


The Broken Man

by Asukasammy



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 42,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asukasammy/pseuds/Asukasammy
Summary: A young witch working as a fortune teller at a circus finds a strange man hiding near the animal pens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I love Harry Potter, I've never had the desire to write fanfic for it before. I just never had any ideas for it. Last month I went to see Fantastic Beasts and Percival Graves instantly caught my attention. This idea popped into my head and it's been brewing ever since. 
> 
> Currently the story is written in 3rd person present tense. Normally I write in third person past tense, so that may change as things progress. If it does, I promise to go back and update the previous chapters to reflect the changes accordingly. 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think!

In her dreams she sees him. 

He’s not a particularly tall man - in fact, he’s only a few inches taller than herself - but there’s something in his manner that makes him tower over others as if they’re only house elves. He is regal, like something out of her mother’s fairy tales, but there’s something incredibly wounded about him too. His eyes have that shell shocked look that she’s seen in so many of the soldiers who fought in the war. However it’s been almost a decade since the last troops came home, and this pain seems to be more recent. 

He reaches out for her, his hand finally gripping hers as the world around them dissolves into swirling darkness. An unseen wind picks at her clothes and whips sand against her skin. It grows stronger and stronger, until she feels as if she might suffocate from the storm. Suddenly the man’s hand is gone, and she’s left alone to fend for herself in a world filled with never ending shadows. 

Just ahead the darkness parts and reveals a woman. She’s just as stately as the man, perhaps even more so with her sepia colored skin and golden hair. She sits on a great wooden throne that gleams in the little light is let through by the storm. Behind her is a silver pool that shimmers. Just looking at it gives her chills, and goose flesh breaks out over her arms in their wake. She can hear screams - thousands upon thousands of voices rising up in fear - and amidst them she can hear the voices of her parents and her sisters crying out in pain. 

Two men in white grab her by the arms and drag her towards it. One holds a wand to her head, its tip digging into her temple, and pulls out a shining memory from her mind. “Let’s find some happy memories...”

She screams and kicks but it’s no use. The men are stronger than her. They drag her closer to the silver pool and a silver chair starts to rise from its center...

It’s Pandora who rips her from the nightmare. 

“Cressida,” the ten year old hisses in her ear. “Cressida, wake up.”

Cressida groans. While she is grateful to be free of the dark dream world, a brief glance around tells her that it’s still night time. Through the tent walls she can see the flicker of bonfires around the camp, and someone walks by carrying a lantern. She has at least a few more hours before the madness of the day begins. “Dora, go back to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“There’s someone out there. What if he hurts Barley?”

“Barley is tiger, Dora. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“But Cressida!”

“Dora, please!” Cressida snaps and throws a pillow in her little sister’s general direction. There’s a thump that tells her that she’s hit something, but since there’s no accompanying yelp, she doubts it was her intended target. “We’ve a long day tomorrow and I need my rest. You know how Momma gets if I can’t do my job.” Assuming that the conversation is over with, she rolls over and pulls her blanket tighter about her shoulders.

However, Pandora isn’t ready to give up yet. 

The slip of a girl is constantly excused from work by the manager. She’s too weak, and often sick, but when she is set on something, she can find the resources deep inside to surprise everyone. It’s part of the reason why they’re here in New York, when they should be spending the winter in Florida or California with the rest of the circuses. This time is no different; Pandora shakes her sister’s shoulder hard enough to make the bed shake, and if they were on the train with Auntie and Uncle, she might make the car move too. 

“Pandora!” Cressida yelps, then quickly remembers where she is. Thankfully, Vesta continues to snore on, oblivious to her sisters’ argument. 

“Someone is going to hurt Barley! Please Cressida! She needs us.” Pandora’s limpid blue eyes stare up at her, beseeching her.

“Fine.” She growls, throwing the comforter off of her legs. She shivers in the chilly air and quickly grabs her dressing gown off of the chair in front of her vanity. It’s thin and made of silk, so it doesn’t do much to protect her from the cold night beyond the canvas walls of their tent, but it’s better than nothing. “Stay here.”

“Yes’m.” Her sister nods and quickly crawls into the space that the older girl just vacated. She burrows under the covers until only the curls on the top of her head are visible.

Cressida sighs. She is sure that Pandora will be asleep by the time she returns from checking on poor Barley. She’s probably even asleep right now. Cressida could crawl in next to her and she would never know that she did not check on Barley. But she did promise, and so she lifts the tent flap and steps out into the dark night. 

The moon is high in the sky, so thankfully she doesn’t need the flashlight from next to her bed. She wraps her arms around herself as she walks through the camp. The rest of the circus is abed, either in their tents or in the train cars, but a few carnies are still awake. They patrol the grounds, their breath hanging in miniature clouds of fog around their faces, their boot heels crushing the frost on the grass. They nod at her as she passes them and she knows that their eyes linger on her rear end long afterwards. 

Silly Dora. Dumb Dora. Cressida grumbles to herself as she nears the edge of the circus where the animals are kept. If someone was dumb enough to taunt Barley, the men assigned as security for tonight would stop him - that is if Barley didn’t stop him first. 

She sees the elephants first. They look at her with dark eyes, their wrinkled grey trunks shoving straw into their mouths and reaching out towards her as she passes. She waves at them as she passes, her teeth chattering together from the cold. “S-s-sorry boys. N-n-no treats tonight.”

Next to the elephants are the zebras and the horses. They all doze standing upright, one hoof bent so that only the tip touches the ground. Their ears twitch as she pass, and their noses twitch at her scent, but they continue to slumber on. 

The lone bear is equally oblivious to her presence, but the lions are not. Their eyes gleam in the light of the moon, and one lioness paces along the front of it’s cage, panting as it looks for a way to escape and attack. She watches it for a moment or two, admiring the way it’s golden hide slips and slides over it’s sleek muscles, before finally moving on. 

Barley is just beyond the lions, at the very edge of the camp. She, too, is awake. However, instead of pacing the confines of pen, she lays in the middle of it, watching Cressida indolently. The moonlight reveals that she, and her cage, is completely fine. There is plenty of water in her basin, and blood streaks on the rough wooden floor reveal that she was recently fed. Cressida smiles to herself;yet again Pandora was worked about nothing. 

Finished with her errand, Cressida turns to head back to her tent only to find that there’s a man blocking her way. 

She’s not sure where he came from. The animal area was empty when she walked through it, and the moon is still bright over head - though it has inched a little closer to the horizon - and the stars are still bright pin pricks in the black expanse above. 

For a moment she thinks it’s a brave carnie come to talk her into a little necking. There are one or two newbies who think they are sheiks and she wouldn’t put it past them to try to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. She smiles to herself, thinking of the knee they’ll get to the family jewels if they try anything. The others learned long ago not to sneak up on the Polari girls... perhaps it's time to give this fish the same lesson.

However, she should give him a little warning first. “Hey, look,” She calls out to the man, clenching her teeth together to keep them from chattering. “Whatever you’re trying to sell, I am not in the mood for it, okay? So beat it before I get one of your buddies to give you the bum’s rush.”

At the sound of her voice, the man looks up at her and she gets a good clear look at his face. Her blood runs cold through her veins as she finally recognizes him, the man from her nightmare. Only, he looks a damn site worse for wear than he did in her dreams. One eye is swollen shut, and a dark bruise mars his other cheek. His black hair hangs in his face in stringy clumps. It’s also trimmed unevenly, with large chunks missing here and there. And his clothes, oh his clothes, gone is the dapper robes, replaced by a plain shirt and pants that appears to have been made out of flour sacks. They positively hang on his gaunt frame. 

“I-i-it’s you!” 

He doesn’t respond. Instead his eyes - well, his one good eye - roll back into his head and he collapses, his head lolling on his neck like Dora’s rag doll. He falls dangerously close to the lion pen, and the pacing lioness decides to take advantage of his proximity. She lunges, her claws raking out in an attempt to grab him and drag him closer. 

Cressida is faster. 

She grabs him around his middle before he can fully hit the ground. Despite his thin frame, he’s still a bit much for her and she grunts from the impact. But she’s able to pull him just out of the swiping lioness’s reach. A quick glance at his arm tells her that the damage has already been done though. Three gouges have been cut out of his skin by the lioness's claws. Blood is already welling up in them, dark and thick. 

Cressida screams for help, while the lioness glares at her and Barley continues to watch the scene unfold while silently liking her paws.


	2. Chapter 2

The carnies who come to Cressida’s rescue help carry the stranger to her family tent. As they draw closer to the center of the camp, other members of the circus peek out of their canvas shelters to stare at them as they pass. When they are only a few feet away, Cressida runs ahead of them and quickly turns up every lantern until the room is filled with light. 

The only question that remains is where to put him. The floor is not an option, nor is Pandora’s cot. Vesta’s is hardly any bigger, so that leaves Cressida’s bed. Pandora starts at her touch. She glances nervously at the still form the carnies are carrying between them through the tent flap. “Barley?”

“No,” Cressida reassures her. “Someone else.” 

“Who?” The girl quickly scrambles out of the bed and the carnies take advantage of her absence. They set the injured man down on top of the thick quilt and then step back to give Cressida room. 

“I don’t know. He came stumbling out of nowhere.” It is more than a little unnerving to be so up close and personal with the person who had been haunting her dreams so much recently. His lashes are dark against his pale cheeks, and she can see his eyes moving back and forth behind their lids. She closes her own eyes and forces herself to focus as she gets to work. 

“Do I need to get Papa?” Pandora’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes in his battered appearance.

“I think that would be a good idea.” Cressida replies. She checks the man’s pulse like Papa taught her to. It’s fast. So is his breathing. And he feels hot to the touch despite the cold outside. She starts to unbutton his shirt, only to stop when she notices that her little sister is still standing nearby. “Now, please.” 

Pandora nods and slips through the tent flap, quick as a flash. She yells as she runs, her voice carrying through the campsite. Cressida sighs; if the full circus wasn’t awake before, it certainly is now. 

“What is going on?” Vesta mumbles sleepily from her corner of the tent. She sits up in her cot and looks around with bleary eyes, suddenly clutching her blankets to her chest when she finally realizes that there are more bodies than normal in their space. “Cressida, there’s a man in your bed!”

“I can see that. I had them put him there after all.” Cressida replies dryly. She is not as concerned with Vesta’s innocence as she is with Pandora’s - where Pandora is only ten, Vesta is nearly seventeen - so she continues to strip the man of his muddy and torn clothing. Underneath the thin fabric there are even more bruises dotting his fair skin, along with quite a few scars. She hisses in sympathy. “Papa has his work cut out for him.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Are you mad?”

“Perhaps.” She uses one of her handkerchiefs to staunch the bleeding on his arm. Some of them are quite fine and covered with intricate embroidery, and normally she uses them to tie up her bland brunette hair to help her look more mysterious. She is loathe to lose them, but she tells herself it’s for a good cause. “What would you have me do though? Leave him for the lions to eat?”

“I doubt they would like him very much.” Papa ducks through the entrance of the tent. He glances at the man, and gives Cressida a nod followed by a kiss on the cheek when he sees her good work. “Doesn’t look like he has much meat on him. Just skin and bones.”

In another life, Henry Polari was a doctor at one of the finest hospitals in New York. Then one day, long, long ago,  he met a pretty witch on a street corner, and he gave it all up to go on the run with her - or so he likes to tell his daughters whenever the subject comes up. He still carries his old black bag in case of emergencies, though, and he plops it on the nightstand next to the bed.

“You’re not going to yell at her, Papa?” Vesta asks from where she is still ensconced in her cot.

“Why would I yell at Cressida for saving a man?” He extracts his stethoscope from within the shadowy recesses of the bag and places it on the man’s chest. The man flinches and tosses his head, the first signs of life Cressida has seen since he collapsed by Barley’s pen.

“She was out of her bed, wandering around camp, in the dead of night.”

“So have you from time to time.” His eyes twinkle at the sound of his middle daughter’s gasp. “Yes, dear. Even if we are not in the tent with you, we still know what you’re doing. You forget your mother has eyes in the back of her head.” 

He means charms, Cressida realizes with a start. Though she supposes that she shouldn’t be surprised at the revelation; Mama was constantly afraid that someday they might be discovered, and an Auror would come snatch them all away. The older witch probably has charms around the whole campsite, maybe even the entire county. Charms and transfiguration are her strong suit, after all. She can even do quite a few of them without needing to draw a wand. 

One of the carnies - a new fellow by the name of Corliano - makes the sign against evil and starts edging towards the entrance to the tent. Before he can get very far though, Papa motions for him to stop where he stands. He licks his lips nervously as he glances from the former doctor, to Cressida, and back again. “Sir?”

“That arm of his is going to need stitches, and if he wakes up, he might fight us.” Papa explains. “We’re going to need people to help hold him down.”  

“Yes, sir.” The carnie stays put, but Cressida can see him clutching something in his pocket. Either a rosary or some holy medal, she thinks. If she really wanted to, she could pry into his mind and find out, but she’d rather not risk the headache. 

Instead she watches as Papa trades the stethoscope for a thermometer. Asking the patient to open his mouth and say ‘ah’ is obviously out of the question, so he settles for the man’s armpit instead. “He’s running a fever - 103 from the looks of it.”

“I noticed.” Cressida says. 

“What else did you notice?”

“His pulse is fast, and his lips and skin are dry - signs of an infection or dehydration.”

“Or both. His lungs concern me.” 

“Pneumonia?” Cressida whispers, afraid to scare the carnies away. 

Papa smiles. “My dear, your skills are wasted on reading cards.” 

He reaches down to touch the man’s neck and feel the glands that are there. His fingertips have just brushed against the skin when the stranger suddenly comes to life, swinging and yelling blindly. One of his punches connects with Papa’s jaw, and the old man tumbles backwards. He quickly recovers though and throws himself on top of his patient in an attempt to calm him. The carnies soon jump to assist Papa, unfortunately it only seems to make things worse.

Vesta screams and hides under her blankets. As if a bit of fabric could protect her from a madman.

Cressida adds her own body weight to the cause. She can hear the rattle in the man’s chest that her father is worried about. She can also feel his heart pounding against his chest. His eyes are wide and dark, but she doesn’t believe he is truly seeing them. Instead he must be reliving whatever terror gave him all the scars and bruises. Cressida looks at her father over the backs of the carnies helping them. “Shell shock. Do we need Mama?”

“No. Not for this. Laudanum should help ease it.”

“Is that wise?”

“A dose or two should be fine until he is stronger.” Papa leaves the man’s side to mix it together. Then he hands it to Cressida for her to hold it to the stranger’s lips. He coughs and sputters, and for moment, she’s afraid that he might choke on it. Soon she can feel the tension easing from his body as the laudanum works it’s magic.  

Once it does, treating the stranger grows easier. He doesn’t flinch when Papa sews up the scratches on his arm, nor does his breathing even falter. He is completely oblivious to the world around him once again, which, Cressida thinks as she watches her father’s need handy work, is probably for the best. Even though he has a steady hand, and he’s fast, there are a fair number of stitches pulling his skin back together. She’s sure even the strong man, Ivan, might grow faint after the first ten. Though, it probably wouldn’t phase the tattooed woman at all.

After he finishes, Papa tells her to take Vesta and fetch Mama while he completes the rest of his examination. Cressida stares at him. “I’ve seen the pictures in your books.”

“I know you have. You’ve all sneaked peeks at my books before. But I’ll not be the cause of your corruption. We’re already on thin enough ice with the managers. Plus, your mama will have my head.”

“Fine.” Cressida sighs. Though, she realizes as she pulls Vesta from underneath her fort of blankets and out into the night air, he does have a point. The managers have given up a lot to help them over the years, and while they might turn a blind eye to the other shebas who stroll around with their fellas, the Polaris are under a deeper amount of scrutiny than the rest of the circus. But Papa’s excuses still feel like just that - excuses. She doesn’t need to use her minimal skills in Legilimancy to tell that he just wants a chance to speak with Mama without his daughters eavesdropping.


	3. Chapter 3

Even though it is far closer to dawn than it was when the man was brought to the tent, the air outside is still chilly. Cressida pulls her dressing gown tight around her body once again, before she and Vesta sprint across the grass and up the hill to the abandoned sidetrack where the circus train cars are parked for the moment. They swing up onto the steps for their train car one at a time, their feet slipping on the icy metal, before finally collapsing into the warm air inside the coach.

Mama looks up from her cup of tea and raises an elegant eyebrow at their abrupt entrance. “I was expecting your father, not two bumbling elephants.”

“I-i-it’s c-c-cold outside.” Vesta whines defensively, her teeth chattering together much like Cressida’s did earlier. “And w-w-we haven’t g-g-gotten much sleep.”

“Hmf,” is all Mama has to say to that. “I doubt any of us will be getting much sleep tonight. Where’s your father? Still with his patient?”

“Yes, Mama.” Cressida says. She bends over in front of the franklin stove in the corner, rubbing her hands together until her fingers feel like fingers again instead of icicles. “He’s in bad shape, Mama - the man that is. Papa wants your help.”

“I don’t know what good I’ll do.” She sighs and finishes her tea. Once the cup is empty she stands, and pulls her own dressing gown off the hook by the bed. Hers is much more thicker than Cressida’s, and far more practical for the weather. If the circus stays here much longer, Cressida decides that investing in something similar might be a good idea.

“He w-wa-was w-w-worried for our v-v-vir-virtue.” Even though she has pushed Cressida out of the spot closest to the stove, Vesta’s teeth are still chattering together. “D-d-dunno why he’s s-s-so worried about Cre-cre-cressida. It’s n-n-not like she’s ever g-g-going to g-g-get married.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only th-th-that you’re an old m-m-maid.”

“I am not!” Cressida snaps.

“Yes, y-y-you are!”

Before Cressida can snap back, Mama speaks up for her. “Vesta! Enough!”

“S-s-sorry, mama.”

“I know we are all tired and cold, but shame on you for picking a fight over such a silly thing at a time like this.” She slips into her dressing gown, and ties the sash around her waist. “You’ve seen his books - and you’ve seen far worse here.”

“Like when the lion tamer was attacked last year?” One of the lionesses - probably the very one who had attacked the stranger tonight - got fed up with the lion tamer’s demands and took a swipe at his stomach. They all had gotten a bit of a gander at his insides and then some while helping Papa patch him up. Cressida takes a seat on the small settee across from the fire and pulls a blanket resting on it’s back around her shoulders. “He’s insisting though. Said you’d have his head for corrupting us.”

Mama snorts at that. “Fine then. I’ll go and see what the big deal is about.” She bends and kisses Cressida on the forehead, then gives Vesta a pat on the head. “Pandora is asleep in bed. I’d recommend you try to get as much as rest as possible.”

“As if anyone is going to come all the way out here to get their fortune told.” Vesta can’t resist chiming in one last time.

Mama sighs, “Goodnight girls.”

“I get the top bunk.” Vesta declares as soon as their mother is out of sight.

“That’s fine by me.” Cressida would much rather sleep in her parents bed with it’s feather mattress anyways. Pandora does have a habit of sprawling out with her limbs all akimbo, which means she only gets a foot of so of the mattress to herself, but it’s so nice and soft that even that small space is just like heaven. And it’ll be even nicer after a rough night like tonight.

She turns down the lanterns while her sister pulls down the narrow bunk from where it’s folded against the wall during the day. She settles in, muttering complaints about how lumpy the bunk’s mattress is and how scratchy the blankets are, but soon her voice dissolves into soft snores punctuated by the occasional whistle as her breath slips past her lips.

Cressida shakes her head in amazement as she climbs into the bed next to Pandora, nudging the girl to one side so she at least has enough quilt to pull over herself. Her little sister snuggles into her body warmth. She whispers sleepily in her ear, “You are not an old maid.”

“Technically I am pet.” At twenty six she’s a bonafide spinster. Which is fine by her, since she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life on the run from MACUSA like their parents. Papa might escape with just being obliviated if they were discovered. Mama, however, might end up imprisoned somewhere - if not executed for breaking the Rappaport Law. Cressida couldn’t decide which fate was worse; to lose thirty years of your life, just have a big blank spot where there should be be happy memories, or death.

“Vesta’s just jealous because she’s not a true seer like you.”

“I heard that.” Vesta mumbles from up above, however it’s hard for Cressida to tell if she’s actually awake or just talking in her sleep.

“Go to sleep you two.” Cressida rolls over to her side and feigns sleep. Soon Vesta is snoring away on the top bunk again, while Pandora’s more even breathing stirs her eldest sister’s short hair.

Unfortunately, Cressida finds that true sleep is elusive. Any time she closes her eyes, she sees the man. First as he was in her dreams, proud and tall and regal, and then as he was when he collapsed, bruised and battered and broken. Who is he? A scourer? She’s heard tales of them from her mother - about how they turned their back on their own kind and hunted them. But she doubts a sourer would wear robes if they abhor wizards so much. Also, in some of her dreams she’s seen the man carrying a black wand with silver and pearl. Even though they are in hiding, Mama has told her enough about her life prior to marrying Papa for Cressida to know that only wizards and witches are permitted to have wands.

Which makes her wonder what is happening in the wizard world that could have resulted in so many injuries. She knows there are magical creatures out there beyond house elves. She doesn’t know their names, but she’s seen them out of the corner of her eye sometimes when the circus sets up camp in a new place. Could one of them have attacked him? Or was there some sort of war going on that they were unaware of due to their separation from the magical community?

Cressida slips out of bed and kneels on the floor next to it. She reaches underneath it, her fingers stretching and scrambling for the hat box hidden there. She finds it, pulls it out, and after making sure both her sisters are asleep, she twists one of the screws holding the leather handle on with a fingernail three times to the right. If someone were to open the box without doing that first, all they would find is an assortment battered hats. Instead Cressida sees a scattered pile of octagonal coins, newspapers, documents, and pictures that move.

She pushes the pictures, birth certificates, and reaches for the newspapers. Sometimes when the circus is set up near a bigger city, a place that might have some sort of wizard population, Mama might sneak into their hidden stores for supplies and a newspaper. Cressida has never paid much attention to them, but maybe they might have some clue as to what is going on.

Most seem to be from some newspaper called the New York Ghost. There aren’t many though, and those editions that Mama has are few and far between. Cressida flips through them and sees one from October, one from May, and another from last December. She sees a note about a kerfuffle at a church run by some group called the Second Salemers in the oldest paper. An article about some animal breeder being shut down in another, an auror by the name of Graves is quoted in it, but she skips over his words since they seem stiff and formal.

The most recent paper is more fruitful. There are articles about a dark wizard by the name of Grindelwald who has been attacking others, and hurting no-majs. “Sounds like a real lovely guy,” She murmurs to herself. She reads on, seeing that he’s avoided capture, and no one knows where he might turn up next. “Quite the slippery fish.”

Maybe he’s the cause behind the poor man’s injuries. She nibbles at one of her fingernails as he considers the idea further. She quickly decides that something else must be afoot though - they are too far out in the countryside for anything of any importance to happen here. Plus this Grindelwald was last seen, far, far away, in Europe. So it couldn’t possibly be him, could it?

Above her, Pandora mutters something in her sleep and Vesta lets out a particularly loud snort. Cressida holds her breath, only letting it out once she’s sure that her sisters are still asleep. She opens the hatbox once more, picking up the newspapers with the intention of shoving them in with the other stuff Mama has saved from her former life. A picture of a soldier blinks up at her from the mess in the box. Something about it bothers her, but she ignores it, dropping the papers on top of him. She shuts the box, locks it, and pushes it back into its hiding spot.


	4. Chapter 4

It feels as if morning takes forever to come. Cressida spends her time watching the seconds tick away on the clock mounted to the wall next to the door and watching the sun try to creep over the trees. When it finally does rise, it’s weak and grey, bathing everything in a sickly light. 

Mama does not return to the train car. Nor does Papa. Either their talk is so totally absorbing that they have lost all track of time, or the stranger has sustained far more injuries than she originally thought. To keep herself occupied, she sets about making breakfast. They could join the rest of the circus in the main tent, but Cressida would rather stay nearby in case Papa needs her. Plus breakfast isn’t Cookie’s strong suit. Heck, dinner isn’t either, but at least it’s semi edible compared to the soupy oatmeal he serves up for the morning meal. She fries up a rasher of bacon and some eggs over the potbelly stove in the corner. Biscuits left over from dinner the night before, and a fresh pot of tea, complete the meal.

She sets out the mixed matched china plates on the table along with an equally eclectic selection of cutlery. On a whim she glances at the empty tea cup her Mama left behind before clearing it off. The leaves on the bottom form several amorphous blobs, but she’s able to pick out a fly and a dagger. Domestic issues - which is a bit shocking, because Mama and Papa never fight - and danger - which isn’t surprising considering the man currently lying in the tent.

While tea is more traditional for tasseography, the grinds of coffee can be used too. Cressida pours herself a cup of coffee, quickly drains it, and up ends it over a saucer. What she finds is a bit more clearer than Mama’s, but still confusing, if only because there seems to be so much going on. Wheels and wasps, scissors and hearts. A kite. And most random of all, a smear that looks vaguely like a rabbit. 

“What does it say?” Pandora asks, breaking the silence. 

Cressida looks up to find her sister watching her from the bed, her pyjamas rumbled, and her hair sticking out from her braided pigtails. “That I’ll find love, but there will be a disagreement. That I must be brave, for there will be a long journey, but in the end I’ll fly free.”

The little girl sighs dreamily. “How romantic.”

“I dunno. Sounds like a bunch of baloney to me.” Vesta pipes up from the top bunk. She peers over the edge at them as she rubs sleep from her eyes. 

“And how.” Cressida mutters, even though she doesn’t quite believe it. Reading the cards is more of her thing, but there are times that sometimes tasseography surprises her. “Get a wiggle on - the food’s getting cold.”

Pandora is the first to slide into a seat at the battered table. She sniffs at a piece of bacon. “It smells okay.” She takes a bite. “It’s safe.”

Cressida rolls her eyes. “Thanks, doll face.”

“Hey, Cress,” Vesta says as she slips down from her bunk, and her sister is immediately on edge at her saccharine sweet tone. “Think I could borrow a couple of clams?”

“Why?”

“Sam’s going into town and invited me to a matinee.”

“If he invited you, he should be paying. And really, is that such a good idea right now considering an injured man just showed up on our doorstep last night?”

“Aw, you don’t know from nothing.”

“Plus you promised Mama you’d help Mrs. Morris with the kids.” Mrs. Morris, the manager’s wife, taught the children of the circus in between shows. It wasn’t much - just reading, writing, some arithmetic, and a little history - and it would never compare to the education the children could get a proper school, but it was better than nothing. 

Vesta ignores her. She digs around in a suitcase that was buried underneath the settee, and pulls out one of her nicer dresses. It’s an older one, a bit too tight in the chest, which is why Mama hid it away, but Cressida is sure that’s why Vesta dragged it out - to show of her non existent curves for dear old Sam. “But what if someone in town knows about...”

“What?”

“Y’know. Him. What if he’s a mobster on the lamb or something?”

“Hogwash. If the cops were looking for him, I’m sure the hounds would’ve found him by now.”

“You’re a real downer, y’know that?”

“You want to see a downer? Go ask Mama and Papa if you can go, and show them what you’re wearing, don’t just bundle up in your coat.”

A steady stream of curses crosses Vesta’s lips as she storms out of the sleeper car the Polari family calls home. None of them are said loudly enough for Cressida to understand exactly what her sister is saying, but the intent is clear. Especially when she tosses a bronx cheer over her shoulder as she takes the steps down to the ground. 

“You know she’s not going to ask.” Pandora nibbles at another piece of bacon. 

“Of course she’s not. I don’t need some silly tea leaves to tell me that she’s just going to sneak off and go.” Cressida nudges her chair with her foot. “Come on. Eat up. Then you can join Mrs. Morris and the others.”

 

After breakfast, Cressida finds a hand-me-down of Vesta’s for Pandora to wear and sends her on her way. Unfortunately, there’s nothing for her to borrow; she’s too tall to fit into any of Mama’s old dresses, and she’s too big in the chest and hips for any of Vesta’s old things. So she wraps up in one of Papa’s coats and makes the trek across the frosty grass to the tent. 

Inside the lanterns are still blazing, and the portable stove has recently been stoked with wood. In fact, the tent is so warm, that Cressida feels little beads of sweat break out on her brow. She brushes them off with a hand before divesting herself of her borrowed coat. 

Mama is nowhere to be found, but Papa is dozing near the bed, understandably exhausted from being up most of the night. Cressida knows she should let him rest, but her curiosity gets the better of her. She approaches him and touches his shoulder. “How is he?”

Papa starts at the sound of her voice and blinks up at her. “He pulled through, but he’s not out of the woods yet. He woke up yelling again around dawn. We had to give him another dose of laudanum to calm him down.”

“Mm.” She glances at the man currently lying on the bed, completely oblivious to his surroundings. That explains why he is so still. At least his color is a little better, and it looks like someone, probably Mama, has tried to even out the jagged fringe of his hair. It’s been slicked back with water, revealing a sharp widow's peak and short slivering hair at his temples. “The swelling around his eye is down a little. Did Mama use one of her spells?”

“That and a steak the Manager had been saving for his dinner.” He pulls off his glasses to clean them. “Healing isn’t your mother’s strong suite, but she knows enough.”

“Well, here’s hoping it’s all downhill from here on out, and she doesn’t need to risk herself again.” The man’s skin is still pale, but when she touches his forehead, it feels a little cooler. 

“He’s quite dapper isn’t he?” Her Papa’s voice breaks her out of her reverie. “What is you kids call it? A sheik?”

“I guess,” She lies. Then she prays that she never hears him use the word sheik ever again. Or sheba for that matter either. 

“Can you read anything off of him? Your mother tried, but...” He trails off and waves a hand about.

Cressida sighs. She’d rather not, since in order for her legilimency skills to have the best chance of success she needs to have physical contact with the person she is trying to read, and with her subject being unconscious, it feels a bit like intruding. But if it’s with the intent to get the man the help he needs, and if it’s with Papa’s permission, then surely that must be okay this once. Still, she decides to keep her reading superficial - just name and family only.

She presses her hand against his forehead again, and pushes back the blankets to reveal his uninjured arm. It’s covered with thick dark hair that’s coarse to the touch. For a moment she’s mesmerized by it, even though she’s seen her fair share of carnies working in the summer sun stripped down to their undershirts. Papa clears his throat and she flushes, suddenly remembering her task. She takes his hand in hers, marveling at how much larger it is, how the elegant fingers are stained with ink at the tips.

And then she lets herself sink down into him, feeling for his mind underneath the fog of the laudanum. She can tell he is skilled in occlumency, or was at some point. He has quite a wall built around himself. One that is damn near impenetrable despite his drugged state, but she can feel cracks in it’s surface and see glimpses of thoughts and memories escaping through the fissures. She picks through them - ignoring the dimmer ones in favor of bright vivid ones that shine like stars in the hopes that they might be more important.

Cressida catches impressions of a girl with dark hair cut in a plain bob standing before the man, her head bowed and her mouth pressed into a thin line as he scolds her for some... thing. The memory is gone before she can find out exactly what happened or who the girl’s name is. An image of the queenly woman from her dream with her hair wrapped up in a turban and her eyes flashing with anger. 

“I’ll make an exception for her this time Graves, but if...” The voice fades away at the same time the memory does. Cressida pauses in surprise, but before she has a chance to process it, another memory is vying for her attention.

The tent disappears around her. Instead she feels warm summer air wrapping around as she strides quickly down an alley way towards what she assumes is a speak easy. In between one step and the next, she is suddenly aware that she is not alone in the alley, but before she can turn to defend herself, a flash of light hits her. She drops to the ground, her body contorting with pain as the first curse is followed up with more and more and more. Before the darkness takes her, she looks up to see another wizard standing over her. He is older, with a round face and pale hair that is nearly white, and blue eyes that sends chills through her very core. 

Grindelwald. 

There are more memories featuring the blonde monster. Ones where the man is bound magically and unable to move while Grindelwald attacks him with more and more curses in an attempt to drag information out of him. Thanks to his auror training, he is able to withstand most of the abuse, but over time his body starts break. 

“What the hell are you doing?!?”


	5. Chapter 5

Mama’s voice cracks through the memories like a whip. Cressida steps away from the stranger, or maybe she is pulled away, it’s hard for her to tell since her thoughts are muddled with the after effects of the legilimancy. Even though the tent has snapped into focus around her, she can still see hints of his memories overlapping things. She feels the warm muggy air of a New York summer, even though she knows it’s winter. She can see the blonde monster, Grindelwald, standing next to the fearsome figure of her Mama in high dudgeon. 

“I asked her to give him a reading.” Papa jumps to her defense. 

“Why? I told you, I would do it didn’t I?”

“You know, dear, that you are not as strong as a legilimens as Cressida is. I didn’t want you to over tax yourself, especially after all the charms you did to help in his healing, and especially since you haven’t slept much yet.”

“So you’d rather put our daughter at risk? What if she can’t do any readings later for her paying customers? What then?”

“Really, Mama,” Cressida interrupts her tirade. “It’s not as if I actually tell them anything important. You’re the one that told me to keep it light and happy so they’d keep coming back.” She sinks down into the chair that Papa just vacated and presses a hand to her forehead. 

Mama gestures in her direction. “See what you’ve done? You’ve given her a headache! Now she’ll be useless for the rest of the day.”

“I’m fine.” Cressida sighs. “Just a bit topsy turvy. That’s all.” Sometimes the louder customers can do that to her, and while the man - no, she stops and corrects herself, Graves. His name is Graves. Now that she knows it after all, she might as well use it. While Graves isn’t loud like some no-maj’s are, in fact he has one of the quieter minds she’s ever encountered, he’s strong. He’d have to be to have a wall that sturdy to withstand everything Grindelwald threw at him. Those few thoughts that did leak through the cracks were clear and precise, devoid of any emotion where as normally memories are filled with and tainted by emotions. She’s never experienced anything quite like it. 

Mama clucks around her like a hen, scolding her for abusing her abilities and draining herself so. Papa looks on with a bemused expression, waiting for his wife to calm down before asking her what he really wants to know. “Did you learn anything?”

It occurs to Cressida that she should be honest. She knows MACUSA’s rules about relationships with no-majs by heart. She knows that an auror, especially this one, the leader of all the aurors in the country, would be required to bring them in if he knew who and what they were. But she also knows that Mama is so afraid of her own kind, that if Cressida told her who the man was, she would dump the poor soul out in the cold this instant. Papa says he isn’t out of the woods yet. Wizard, or no wizard, abandoning him now, before he has recovered or is strong enough to defend himself will surely be the death of him. 

So Cressida decides to lie. 

“No.” The word falls easily from her lips. But then, she’s had more than enough experience lying to no-maj’s over the years about all sorts of things - promising them that, no, their husband isn’t cheating when he really is, that they’ll live to be a hundred even though the Grim in the bottom of their tea cups forecasts an early death - that it’s almost become second nature to her.

“His name starts with a P. Percy maybe? And one of the cuts on his arm is starting to get infected. That’s all I got though.” 

“That’s it?” Mama is incredulous. 

“The laudanum made everything feel all sideways.” What’s one more lie to save a life?

“Well,” Papa sighs. “We can try again later.”

“No, you won’t.” Mama glares at him.

He ignores her. “Now if that wound is really infected like you say it is, Cressida, we’ll need to rip those stitches open and clear it it out.”

“It is.” She had felt it burning underneath all the memories, the infection gradually working its way upwards. She scratches then rubs at her own arm.

“Would you like to stay to assist?” He is eager to show her more, and Cressida won’t deny that she is interested to learn. Even though she feels it's a little too late for herself to become a doctor, and where would she get the money for schooling anyways, it would be good to know these things in case anything should ever happen to him. 

“Our daughter needs to do her job so we can continue to put food on the table.” Mama interrupts before Cressida can say anything. She turns to her daughter and continues, “So you’ll go to the tent, start up the fire and get that crystal ball ready. Do you hear me?”

“Mama, no one is going to trudge all the way out here in this weather.” 

“The managers have decided that the show will go on as usual, so that means you need to do your job.”

“Yes ma’am.” Cressida sighs and stands up. Papa pats her on the shoulder as she passes by him on the way to her travel trunk. She pulls her costume out of its bowels; a dress that would make any bright shiny thing jealous, and a battered fur coat that has seen better days - not that anyone notices in the dim light of the fortune telling tent. She also adds a pair of woolen stockings to the pile in her arms. Silk ones would be better for the character she portrays as a diviner, but the morning is so cold, and she doubts that anyone is going to show up. Plus it’s not like her customers ever see her standing, anyways. She spends her full day sitting down and calling them in one at a time. She then disappears behind the dressing screen set up in the corner to change. 

She lingers as long as she possibly can, but unfortunately, Mama and Papa don’t converse any further about the patient while she is present. So she finally admits defeat, slips into the fur coat, and grabs one of her beloved scarves and some paste jewelry off of her vanity before retreating. The second she steps outside, she can hear Mama finally start in on Papa, but she keeps her voice low so she can’t understand what is being said. She could lurk nearby in hopes of eavesdropping, but she knows it’s probably pointless. Afterall, if Mama can sense when they come and go thanks to her charms, she probably can also sense when someone is nearby outside. 

The fortune telling tent is on the far side of the camp, near the big top. It’s set up towards the end of the promenade that leads to the entrance to the large striped pavilion, and is surrounded on either side by food vendors and games. All of which are silent at the moment due to the early hour.

Cressida feels more than a little silly as she lights the lanterns hanging from the corners of the small space. She turns them up just enough so she can see what she’s doing while she adds wood to the heater - Mama will probably complain about wasting wood, but Cressida knows that no one is going to stick around long if the tent is colder than an ice box in the antarctic - and then she turns them down low again to preserve the darkness of the tent. Once that is done she opens the fly, so guests can see that she is in and taking customers, and then pulls up a seat in front of the round table with it’s ridiculous crystal ball. 

While she waits for customers to arrive, she ponders the little she learned while peering into the stranger’s mind. 

Graves. 

Percival Graves.

The Percival Graves from Mama’s newspapers. The head of MACUSA’s department for Magical Law Enforcement. 

She lets out a low whistle as the reality of the situation sinks in. What the hell has she done, lying to Mama and Papa about who he was? He could ruin everything if he figures out what they are. But, she reminds herself, he’s in no shape to be left on his own, and won’t be for awhile yet. A long while yet. It’s in his best interest to keep her mouth shut about who he is even if he does pose a threat to their existence

Maybe once he comes to he’ll be grateful for their help. Maybe them helping him will be exactly what MACUSA needs to repeal that stupid Rappaport Law. He’ll march right up to the President once he’s better and tell her that not all no-majs are bad, and the President will realize how foolish MACUSA has been and that will be the end of it. 

She snorts at her own foolishness. Just because Papa is a good person doesn’t mean that all no-majs are good people. If they were, there wouldn’t be groups like those horrible Second Salemers mentioned in the Ghost. 

Or maybe he’ll just disappear into thin air with no one the wiser once he’s better. Mama has told her that wizards can do that. Just a flick of their wand, and presto, they’re standing some place totally new. 

She doubts that that will happen either. After injuries like the ones he has, it’ll probably take time for him to recover his strength. Weeks. Maybe even months. Wizardkind is still only human after all, and despite their fantastic abilities, even they have their limits. So that means she has to prevent Mama from figuring out who he is, and prevent him from figuring out what they are, for as long as he’s stuck here. 

As she mulls it over more and more, she realizes that she’s worried about nothing. No way he’s about to give away anything once he’s awake. In fact, it’s highly doubtful he’ll even talk to them. Mama has told her about how witches and wizards are taught from a very young age to never befriend no-majs, or even exchange more than a few words with them at a time. And neither Mama nor Papa are going to admit to what they are. While their act in the circus does feature magic, it’s discreet stuff that’s easy to mistake for sleight of hand tricks. And besides, she doubts someone like him would even go near the big tent. As for her sisters... well, they’re completely oblivious to their heritage for now. Cressida doubts that Mama will ever tell Vesta about MACUSA or anything else. The girl doesn’t have a magical bone in her body, so why bother her by telling her about some world she’d never get to know? Pandora, on the other hand, is obviously taking after Mama’s side of the family. But they have at least another year or two before they need to worry about training her. Or so Cressida hopes. 

Even though the matinee show won’t start for a few more hours, Cressida hears the crunch of footsteps outside the tent. She pushes aside her worries for the moment and looks up to welcome a farmer’s wife with a bright, dazzling smile. “Welcome. Welcome. Come in. Come in.” She twists her voice into her best impersonation of a Russian accent, turning the Cs into Ks and the Ws into Vs. It falls flat, horribly so, but out here in the sticks, no one is the wiser. “I can see you’ve come a long way to speak to Madam Ivanna Polareeva today. You are worried about your husband, no?”

The woman stares at her with wide eyes. She takes a seat across the table and nods. 

“Madam Ivanna knows all. Sees all. For the right price, of course.” When the woman pushes a handful of coins towards her, Cressida smiles. She pockets the money and leans forward, peering into the crystal ball sitting between them. “Let us begin.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating folks. My carpal tunnel flared up on New Years eve, and it took a little while to get it under control. Hopefully everything should be golden from here on out.

To Cressida’s surprise, far more people brave the cold for readings than she thought would. She uses legilimency to see what they want to know before they can even ask. Then she either reads the crystal ball, brings out the tarot, or brews them a cup of tea. Then she tells them what she sees, keeping her visions of the future as positive as possible. She isn’t sure if it’s because of the presence of the auror in the camp, the fact a mad wizard is on the loose, or if something else is brewing - but it’s harder than normal to keep things cheerful when she can feel darkness nipping at the edges of every vision. 

Once the matinee show begins, she hangs up a closed sign and slips away from the fortune telling tent and the main drag of the circus. The meager sunlight has warmed things up a little. The frost from last night has turned to mud, and she watches her step to make sure she doesn’t trip or twist an ankle.

In the center of the camp is a plain shelter, made up of patches of canvases from long forgotten shows. Several scratched and beaten up tables span the length of the room, lined with equally rough and worn chairs, and at the far end stands a large wooden stove manned by the equally large Cookie. Judging from the smells emanating from his direction, he’s already gotten started on dinner. 

As all of the performers are at the big top waiting to go on, the tent is fairly empty. Only a smattering of carnies are sitting at one table - games workers, judging from their dapper outfits - and one or two kids who haven’t been put to work in the circus yet are sitting at another. Cressida spies Pandora among their number. She waves in her direction while collecting a sandwich off of the spread left over from the lunchtime rush. She grabs a second one for Papa and turns to head back out of the canteen, but she’s stopped by a carnie before she can get very far. 

“Well, if it isn’t the finest sheba’s out of the lot.” Tinker tips his chair backwards so he’s blocking the path out of the tent. He crosses his arms behind his head and smiles up at her, a chewed up matchstick hanging off of his full lips. “You’re looking especially swanky today.”

Despite herself, Cressida smiles back at him. “What do you want Tinker?”

“I was thinking we could get some giggle water a little later. Rumor is there’s a nice little joint in town with some grade A hooch.”

“Thanks for thinking of me, sugar - but you know I can’t. This bank is closed for the foreseeable future.” 

“Right. I forgot. Getting ossified messes with that third eye of yours, doesn’t it?” The disappointment rolls off of his mind in waves, dark and smokey. She sees it swirling around him as he rights his chair and leans his elbows on the table. His biceps bulge, straining the sleeves of his shirt.

Not to mention that the last thing she wants is him to get confused. They used to flirt a little, back in the day. Once she realized that she would be in as much trouble as Mama if she dallied with a no-maj, she tried to let him down as nicely as possible. However, it was clear that he still held out hope that she might change her mind. “A bit.” She holds up the extra sandwich. “And I gotta help poppa.”

“Right, that john you caught last night. Heard about that. He still alive? Rumor was he was in rough shape.”

“He was still kicking the last time I checked. I’m on my way to go pop in right now. Care to join me? I think Papa was going to clean out where that dumb tiger got him. He might need some help.” 

Tinker’s face goes pale at the mere thought of blood, and the rolling disappointment surrounding him takes on a greenish shade. “No thank you.”

“See ya later.” Cressida scoots past him as quickly as possible, and makes for the family tent. 

Normally he would be getting ready for his ‘magic’ act, but it seems the manager has excused him from his responsibilities for the day. When she steps inside the canvas flap, she finds Papa slumped in his chair by the auror’s bed. A his head bobs limply on his neck with every breath he takes, and a soft snore passes his lips. 

She glances at the figure in the bed, noticing that, except for fresh bandages on his arm and a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, Graves remains unchanged. A pile of bandages on her vanity confirms that Papa did clean out the wound again like Cressida told him to. And a mug full of a noxious potion nearby tells her that Mama brewed up something to give Papa’s medicine a little boost.

“His fever broke. Finally.” Mama sits on the edge of Vesta’s cot knitting a sweater. She’s far slower with the wooden needles than she would be if she charmed them, but a gray hem is slowly growing row by row. 

“Oh good.” Cressida holds up the extra sandwich. “I brought lunch.” 

“Thank you, dear. That’s very thoughtful of you.” She pats the bed next to her. “Sit.”

They share one sandwich, leaving the other one for Papa to eat when he wakes up. The meat is dry, the bread a little stale, but Cookie’s generous use of mustard hides the taste. A fresh cup of coffee also helps. 

Once they’re done, Mama breaks the silence. “You seem quite taken with our new friend here.”

“I’m just concerned for him, that’s all. Wouldn’t you be if you had some poor man stumble across your path who needed your help?” Cressida keeps her tone light, but she knows her question hits home. That’s how Papa fell in love with Mama after all. He was being beaten up by two men, and Mama stepped in and saved him with a flick of her wand. She says she kept it discreet. He says that a little skinny thing like her taking on two burly thugs was a dead giveaway that something fishy was going on. 

“Hmf.” Is all Mama has to say. Then she adds. “Pandora says you’ve been dreaming about him.”

“Him who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Pandora needs to keep her nose out of other people's business.” Cressida picks at a snag on her dress.

“She has the gift.”

“She needs to be trained then. Before she ruins this for all of us. We can’t just keep obliviating everyone whenever she slips up.”

“I know... I’m trying... I want to, but it’s hard with Vesta around.”

“She’s not around right now.”

“Where is she?”

“Out with Sam.”

Mama’s eyes flash in anger, but Cressida knows that there’s not much she can do until her errant child comes home. Instead she continues to pick at her eldest. “Don’t change the subject. Why didn’t you mention this to me?”

“They’re just dreams, Mama.”

“What else is in them?”

Cressida finds herself lying for the second time that day. “Nothing Mama. I see him, and then there’s dark clouds, and that’s it.”

Mama takes a breath, sucking the air in so sharply and quickly that it whistles past her lips. “Dark magic.”

“Or just a dream.”

“You’re sure he’s not a wizard? You didn’t feel anything - see anything - when you touched him earlier?” 

“Absolutely, positively, nothing.” She holds up her hand, her fake rings glimmering in the light of the lamps. “I swear it.”

That earns her another hmf. “Well, let’s just hope that he heals up quickly and is on his way as soon as possible. He looks too much like an old family from back home. It worries me.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And I’d rather you be spending more time with that other fellow, Tinker, then wasting time in here. You hear me?”

Cressida sighs. “Yes, Mama.”

“Now, I’m going to go check on Pandora and wait for Vesta.” Mama stands, tucking her knitting away in a basket. “You should get back to work.” Then she leaves, in search of her youngest daughter. 

“Don’t fret, pet.” Papa murmurs after she leaves. “She’s just worried. We all are. This is attention we don’t need - and as you said yourself, there is only so much you two can do.”

Cressida isn’t surprised by the sound of his voice. She had noticed that his snoring had ceased earlier during her and Mama’s conversation. “I know, Papa.” She says. “I just wish things didn’t have to be this way. All the secrets and the lies.”

“You and me both, my dear. You and me both.” He stands, stretching his arms above him and twisting his neck this way and that in an attempt to work out the kinks. “Your Mama has told me it’s not so bad in other countries.”

“Then why don’t we go there instead?” 

“Because we don’t have the money. And everything we have is here.” He gestures at the canvas walls around him. 

“Right.” Cressida sighs, rolling her eyes. “But wouldn’t it be worth it, to have a house? Solid furniture and not this beat up old mess? To not have to pack up and move every month, or whenever there’s trouble?”

Papa smiles at her. “There is more to life than nice things.”

Cressida doesn’t see how wanting nice things is bad. It’s not like she wants to live in a fancy mansion with parties every night. She’d just like to have something stable and not feel like she has to keep moving unless a scorer or an auror finds her. To be free to be friends with people without worrying about some stupid law made up because of a stupid girl who fell for a trick ages ago. To be able to go around with someone handsome without having to worry about the future. 

She opens her mouth, and is about to explain all of this and so much more, when the man in the bed groans.


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing Graves asks for is water. Papa happily gives him a glass, and he takes a sip only to promptly cough most of it up. The next sip goes down a little smoother and so does the third. When he finishes, he collapses on the bed, pale and trembling from the exertion. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Papa smiles at Graves as he checks his eyes, and his pulse, and listens to his chest. If he finds Papa’s methods or his instruments strange - which, Cressida thinks, he must, for surely wizard kind has a better way of doing things - he gives no sign. “Do you know what year it is?”

“Nineteen Twenty Six.” Graves voice is rough and crackling from disuse. 

He coughs again, and Cressida quickly offers him the potion Mama had brewed. “Here.”

He gives her a curious look when the strong taste of the liquid touches his tongue. She cannot tell if he recognizes it’s magical origins or if he just finds it repulsive - his brown eyes are glassy from the laudanum and, even though she isn’t touching him, she can feel the exhaustion dancing at the edge of his mind. He sets the mug down on the bedside table, his hand trembling and then falling limply back on the blankets.

“Do you know what day it is?” Papa asks.

“I know it is December. The eight? Tenth?” It’s a guess, and it’s easy to see that Graves doesn’t like it. He’s one who is used to being control and who needs to know what is going on. Not knowing eats at him, but he’s still so weak that he can’t do much except close his eyes. 

“The Twelfth.” Papa corrects him. “And who is the president?”

“Coolidge.”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Peredur.” He says after a moment. He coughs again, and Cressida can hear his breath rattling in his chest from where she is standing at the foot of the bed. “Peredur Staid.” She’s silently impressed that he’s with it enough to remember the current president and give a fake name. Given the state he’s in, she was worried that he might slip up. But then, he is the Director of Magical Defense. He probably had some sort of training for situations like this.

Papa glances at her. “Looks like you weren’t too far off the mark there.”

Graves eyes snap back open at that, and she flushes under his cool gaze. She takes a slow deep breath and lowers her eyes. There is still a way for her to save this, she tells herself. Wizards aren’t the only ones who know the benefits of certain plants, so she can pass the potion off as tea if he asks. Nor are witches the only ones who know how to read the future - the various forms of divination have been around for centuries. She builds a wall around her thoughts though, just in case he is as skilled at legilimency as he is with occlumency. 

“Got any family looking for you? I’m sure your people must be worried.”

Graves shakes his head. “I don’t know.” His eyelids are drifting close again, but he fights to keep them open. “If you are done, I have some questions of my own.”

Papa nods. “Of course.”

“Where... where am I?”

“You’re currently with the Morris Brother’s Circus in upstate New York. I’m Eric Polari, this is my eldest daughter, Cressida.”

“How did I get here?”

“I should be asking you that. Do you remember what happened to you? How you got these injuries?”

“No.”

“Mmm.” Papa hums. He glances at Cressida and she gives him a little shrug. Their guest is lying, but to try to read his memories would give them away. He looks back at Graves. “You stumbled across my daughter last night. Gave her quite a fright.” 

He holds up his arm. “Is that how this happened?”

Cressida snorts as she pours Graves some more water. “One of the lions was a bit hungry. Apparently she thought you’d make a good midnight snack. I convinced her that you were too bony for her tastes.” 

His lips twitch at that, but another cough wracks his body before he can respond. 

“Cressida, why don’t you go get some more of that...” Papa gestures at the mug. “From your Mama, and we can let Mr. Staid get some rest?”

“Yes, Papa.” 

 

Graves sleeps for the rest of that day and most of the following one and the next. There are moments when he wakes briefly to eat broth from Cookie, or drink more water, or swallow Mama’s ‘tea’, or lean on Papa to visit the necessary. His breathing continues to be far more labored than Papa cares for, and Cressida notices during those brief moments that she’s able to visit the tent that his skin is growing warm again - though nothing like the fever he had when she first found him.

“An infection?” She asks when she stops by to grab more clothing for Pandora, Vesta and herself from their trunks.

“Possibly.” Papa sighs. “But his arm is clear. Could you...?” He trails off, but then glances meaningfully at where Graves lays in bed. 

“Mama will be upset.” 

“I’m sure Mama would rather he not die on our watch. We haven’t the money for a funeral. Nor do any of us want the local sheriff coming around and asking questions.Especially your Tinker

“He’s not my anything.” Cressida says as she takes Papa’s place by the bedside. She takes Graves’s hand again, touches his forehead, and slips beneath the surface of his thoughts. The wall is still there, stronger and taller than before, the cracks slowly repairing themselves. Less and less is slipping out as a result. But she’s not here to find out who he is or what he’s doing here, she’s here to see what else might be ailing his poor body. 

The infection in his arm that she had noticed earlier has faded, beaten back by Papa’s frequent cleaning of the wound and liberal doses of alcohol. She senses the liquid that has settled in his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe. There’s an underlying exhaustion complicating the situation as a whole, from months upon months of what she assumes is abuse, but it’s hard to clearly see. As soon as she draws close to the source, it’s snapped away behind the damn wall of his. It leaves a faint taint of something wicked behind, something wrong, and she can taste bile on her tongue as a result. 

Is there such a thing as dark magic? Spells that no one is supposed to know?

Cressida isn’t naive. She knows that there are dark witches and wizards out there - like that Grindelwald in Mama’s papers - who have horrible things, but she just always assumed that they used the same spells that everyone else did. Sort of how a knife in the right hands could be used to either create a beautiful work of art carved out of wood, but if it was given to someone with the wrong intentions, it could be used to maim or even kill. 

Not for the first time she finds herself railing against her circumstances. If only things were different, she could have gotten a proper education instead of the little bits and pieces that Mama chooses to pass on. She would be able to use a wand. She could protect herself. But no, thanks to MACUSA’s silly laws, all she can do is run if she comes face to face with a monster like Grindelwald - and what use is running against someone like him? Heck, she wouldn’t even stand a chance against the auror currently laying in her bed.

The hand she holds firmly in her own, squeezes her fingers together tightly, nearly crushing them. She yelps and looks down to find that Graves is glaring at her, his dark eyebrows nearly knitted together in his fury. She doesn’t blame him at all. She’d be peeved too if someone was trying to read her thoughts without her permission. She tries to drop his hand like it’s a hot plate, but he refuses to let go. He growls, “What are you doing?” 

“N-n-nothing.” Cressida stammers. “Just checking your temperature. And your pulse.” Belatedly she remembers to erect her own wall again and prays that he didn’t pick up on anything while she was under. 

“There was more to it than that.” 

“I think you’re imagining things, Mister.” She lifts her chin up and stares down at him, silently daring him to try to claim otherwise. Thankfully another coughing hits him, interrupting the moment, and he relinquishes her hand so he can sit himself up. 

She takes advantage of the moment to escape. As her heart pounds in her ears she runs outside the tent, stopping only to take a couple of ragged breaths once she’s sure she’s safe.


	8. Chapter 8

“Who lit a fire under your heels?” A familiar voice surprises her. 

Cressida looks up to find Tinker standing near by, a cigarette clasped between his lips. Its end glows red as he inhales, and a thin stream of smoke escapes from the end. She smooths the skirt of her dress down with shaky hands. “No one.”

“You sure about that, sheba?”

“Just a bad reading. Left me with some real heebie jeebies.” She motions at his smoke. “Can I have a drag?”

“Anything for you, doll face.” He steps away from the shadows he’s been lingering in. “Just one question, cash or check?”

Of course he’d want a kiss for something as silly as a couple of puffs off his cigarette. “Neither. Bank’s closed remember?” 

Tinker laughs and hands her the cigarette anyways. She inhales, feeling the burn spread down her throat and into her lungs. She has a coughing fit as bad as one of Graves and nearly loses her lunch in the process, but the tobacco helps to clear her head somewhat. “That must have been some vision to make a virgin like you want to take up smoking.” 

“And how.” Cressida replies. She hands the cigarette back, and his rough fingertips brush over hers as he takes it. “Thanks.”

“Say, if you can’t have any giggle water, how about getting a cup or two of Joe later?”

“Mama would tan my hide.” She lies.

“Like she tanned your sister’s over Sam?”

“Maybe.” Cressida’s ears are still ringing from overhearing that oh so lovely arguement. She’s pretty sure the entire circus heard it. But she has bigger fish to fry. Like how to convince Graves that she wasn’t using legilimency on him.

“Ouch.” He winces and glances away, his blue eyes widening when he spots someone walking towards them. “Well I better step off then. Your dear old dad is coming this way. I wouldn’t want him to get any ideas and let something slip. See you later, doll.” He strides off, his long legs carrying him quickly across the frozen ground and his trench coat billowing out behind him.

Cressida sighs. If only things were different. 

“I thought...” Papa says slowly, his words careful as if he’s afraid to scare her again. “That Tinker wasn’t anything to you.”

“He isn’t.”

“That isn’t what it looks like.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” She sighs. “What do you want Papa? Is something wrong with our patient?”

He blinks at her, surprised by her sharp tone. “He is resting again, but that isn’t why I came to see you.” She raises an eyebrow, knowing full well that that is the very reason why he is here. With the way she stormed out of the tent, she’s surprised that he hasn’t sent for Mama to play back up. Papa flushes. “All right. I confess. He is part of the reason. There is more to him than meets the eye, isn’t there?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean like you, and your mother, and Pandora. He’s special isn’t he?”

“I don’t know, Papa.”

“I think you do.”

Cressida wishes she had kept the cigarette instead of letting Tinker disappear with it. As much as the nasty thing has left a vile taste in her mouth, at least she would have something to distract Papa with. “He has walls up. Strong ones. So I can’t tell one way or the other.”

“Then that must be a sign that he is.”

“Not necessarily. You know that sometimes regular people can be hard to read too.”

“Ah, but would ‘regular people’ recognize what was happening like he did?”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just shell shock. Or maybe he just doesn’t like being touched.”

Now it’s Papa’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “He doesn’t seem phased when I interact with him. He only seems bothered by you and your mother.”

Cressida looks away and stares at her feet. She’s fumbling this up horribly. She knows it. Perhaps she should tell him the truth, but then she sees a vision of herself passing him in the street one day in the not too distant future. She reaches out to stop him, but his expression is blank when he stares at her. The vision fades and she sighs, making her decision. The less he knows about this, the better. 

Taking a deep breath, she meets her father’s eyes. “Then you should probably be the only one to take care of him, if mine and Mama’s presence bothers him so much.”

“You know as well as I do that I can’t be playing nursemaid all the time. The manager expects me to resume my act tonight. And you know I need your mother’s assistance.”

“Well, I have to do readings.”

“You don’t do readings during shows.”

“Sometimes a straggler might come roaming by.”

Papa wouldn’t be budged on the subject. “They can wait.”

“Vesta doesn’t have anything to do. Put her on it.” 

“Vesta is too flighty, all it’ll take is one look from that fellow of hers and she’ll go chasing after him. Even if she were steadier, she doesn’t know the basics like you do.”

He had a point. Vesta didn’t give a fig about healing, but then, very few people had the touch like Papa did. Even other doctors. And asking Pandora to do it was out of the question. She’s too young, and she might rouse Grave’s suspicions even more than Cressida herself had. “Papa, please. Can’t he be left alone for a few minutes?”

“You know as well as I do that he’s not quite well enough yet. Maybe in another day or two, if this pyrexia subsides.” 

Cressida grunts. She knows it’s not ladylike, but the other words she’d like to use aren’t things she can say in her father’s company. “Yes, Papa.”

He draws closer to her, and she can see his eyes are bright with mischief. “Only a few minutes ago, you were looking for any reason to drop by the tent. Now, you’re trying to avoid it. Such behavior leads me to believe that my original assumptions might be correct about his nature-”

“Papa!”

“If you don’t want to raise your mother’s suspicions,” He continues on as if she hadn’t interrupted him. “You might want to continue as if nothing has changed. Your mother might be quite talented, but I have a feeling that this fellow of yours is a bit more powerful if he’s able to cloud your abilities even in his current state.” 

“He’s not my fellow any more than Tinker is!”

“Of course not, dear.” Papa winks and taps the side of his nose, then turns to return to the tent and his patient. Cressida nibbles at a thumbnail, thinking to herself that perhaps she should have taken Tinker up on his offer after all MACUSA be damned. 

The rest of the afternoon is spent worrying at that same fingernail in between readings until the skin around it is raw and bleeding. How, she wonders in between giving guests readings, is she going to avoid Graves questions once she’s alone with him? Because she’ll know he’ll have questions. Loads of them. She would if she were in his shoes.

The only thing she thinks of is to slip some lavender in his tea to knock him out. But even though he’s not a big man, it would probably take more than the little that Mama has tucked away to knock him out. And it’s not nearly fast enough. There’s the laudanum, but Papa keeps such a close eye on it that that’s not an option either. That leaves her with either ignoring him, or bringing a big bowl of soup and just feeding him one spoonful at a time - fast like, so he can’t get a word in edgewise. 

Unfortunately that probably wouldn’t be good for him considering how bad his cough, she realizes with a groan. He’d probably just choke on it, and the last thing she wants to do is pound on his back and accidentally make that connection and slip under the ripples of his mind again. What few there are that is. 

All she can do is pray that he’s asleep when she gets there and that he continues to stay asleep until Papa returns. She sighs, then forces a smile on her face as a young man - barely more than a boy, really - enters the tent and asks for a reading. So she pulls her crystal ball close and peers into it from underneath her eyelashes, then tells him what he wants to hear about his lady love.

If Cressida had looked a bit deeper, she might have seen that her little problem was already gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Cressida’s father had told her to be at the tent in plenty of time for him to prepare for the show. However, instead of rushing straight there after her last reading, she dawdles. She straightens the table cloths layered on the table and rearranges the chairs. She sweeps the mud out, then takes her time abating the fire in the Franklin heater, until it’s little more than a red glow. Once there’s nothing left for her to do, she slowly blows out the flames one by one. Then she closes the ornate tapestry that is the door behind her and makes the long trudge across the camp to the family tent yet again. 

She notices that the tent is oddly quiet when she approaches it. There is no snoring that she would expect from someone as sick as Graves is. Nor is there any coughing. She can see the glow of the lantern through the thick canvas, but the shadow the bed casts on the wall is absent of life. Oh, it’s bumpy in all the right places that a man should be, but there’s no life to it. If she had someone to place a bet with, she’d guess that he’s used pillows or something, like Vesta sometimes uses when she wants to sneak out. Which seems a bit silly for a man who has more magic in his pinky finger than most encounter in their whole lives. 

Even though Cressida is positive that he’s gone, she still checks the tent to make sure. Sure enough, Graves has taken all the pillows and blankets available in the tent and shoved them under the quilt on the bed into something vaguely man shaped. He’s also stolen a shirt she was mending for father before he stumbled into their lives, and one of the woolen blankets. He had also pocketed Mama’s potion for him. So even though his initial attempt to throw him off their trail was mediocre at best, he wasn’t a complete idiot. 

She chews on her lip as she debates about what to do. If she lets him go, that will solve her little problem. No more worrying about how to hide who he was from Mama. No more worrying about how to hide her own abilities and that of her family’s from their guest. But she knew he wasn’t in the best of health. He might not be able to make it far, and if he somehow did there was the chance that he might alert MACUSA to them. No, it was better to drag the man back, both for his safety and their own. 

Cressida steps back outside. The sun was setting in a blaze of glory above the frozen trees. The frost that coated them and the ground sparkled in the fading light. She couldn’t linger to appreciate it though. She studied the ground, looking for signs of his passage - which is damn near impossible considering how many people there are in the Circus camp. Boot marks cross with the deeper holes left by kitten heels. There were slipper marks, and paw prints of animals both large and small. Tire marks too. 

Finally she spies a foot print, then another, and another. She finds the stolen woolen blanket halfway up the bank to the siding the Circus train is parked on. And on the other side is a long furrow in the mud and snow showing where Graves must have slid down. The footprints on this side of the train are clearer, since no one came over to this side of the camp except for the trainers exercising the animals. Plus, it was pretty clear which footprints were his, since only one led into the woods. She didn’t need to be a tracker to figure that out. 

Still carrying the blanket in one hand, Cressida steps past the tree line. She follows his trail, noticing that it grows wobblier the further it goes. The steps sway from side to side, and broken branches mark where he’s either stumbled against the trees or has leaned against them to catch his breath. Foolish man. The urge to throttle him with the blanket when she finds him is so strong that she twists it in her fists. 

She finally finds Graves a short distance away, standing in a clearing with a determined look on his face. His eyes are closed, but she doesn’t doubt that he knows that she is near. However, he makes no effort to turn and face her, instead he seems more focused on whatever he might be doing than ever before. Based on the frown that turns his otherwise fine lips into little more than a faint line, she guesses that it must not be going too well. A fine sheen of sweat breaks out over his forehead as she watches him, and he drops to his knees with a grunt. The bandage on his forearm is tinged with red where he ripped through his stitches, and she can see on his shoulder that a part of his shirt and the skin underneath it is missing. Blood from the wound drips down his arm to fall on the ground by his leg.

Cressida has never seen it before, but she’s heard enough stories from Mama to piece together what he was trying to do. Apparition. The damned fool was trying to apparate, and splinched himself. She takes a step forward to help him, but he throws up a hand. At first she assumes he’s going to beg for her help, but he barks out a hoarse spell instead. “Stupefy!”

She sidesteps whatever attack he might be flinging her way only to realize that she has nothing to worry about. His hand is shaking so much that the spell digs into the ground a short distance away from him, leaving nothing more than a shallow scratch in the earth. She purses her lips. “Well that was foolish.”

“Leave me alone.” He snaps back. His eyes are glazed over from both pain and exhaustion, and every breath is barely more than a labored gasp. 

“Come on. Let’s go back to the tent. It’s warmer there -” Cressida speaks to him as if he is a trapped and wounded animal - which, in a way, he is. She keeps her voice soft and melodious as she steps forward again, crossing the distance between them. 

“Obliviate!” He attempts to cast another spell, but this one does absolutely nothing. Whatever energy he had is gone now, lost in his failed attempt to apparate and the half hearted stun spell. 

Cressida raises an eyebrow. “Really? I’m trying to help.”

“I felt you clawing away at my head. If that’s your idea of help -”

“You were unconscious, what else were we supposed to do? Let you die?”

He doesn’t have a reply for that. “Take me back to New York.”

“You were in no state to travel when we found you. And you’re certainly not fit to travel now.”

“I’m fine. I saw an empty truck on the way here. You could drive me there in that.” 

“That old jalopy would die after an hour, and you wouldn’t make it much farther if you keep insisting on staying out here.” 

“I said I am fine.” There’s a tone in his voice, as if he’s trying to command her. Given his role at MACUSA, he’s probably used to barking out orders and having them followed without question. Well, she isn’t one of his underlings. 

“That’s a pile of baloney and you know it.” Cressida rolls her eyes. He’s trembling now, shaking from the cold. She flings the blanket over him and he flinches as it settles over his shoulders. It’s damp, but it’s better than nothing. “Come on. The joint back there isn’t your fancy digs on Broadway, but it’s better than standing out here getting sicker. New York will still be there in a day or two. It isn’t just going to disappear.”

“It might if he has his way.” Graves mutters softly. It takes Cressida a moment to realize he’s talking about the dark wizard. 

“You mean Grindelwald.”

“How do you know his name?”

His dark eyes meet hers and they are clear as clear can be. She realizes too late that he’s tricked her. Sure he’s sick, but he’s no idiot. Though, she should have known he would figure out that there was more to her than meets the eye when he caught her holding his hand while he slept, dancing through his memories. Her excuse was just as laughable as his attempt to make it look as if someone was still in the tent. Which, she realizes, was probably a part of his plan to lure her out here alone. “I figured it out when I was... how did you put it? Clawing at your head?”

The frown is back on his face, and it’s deeper than ever before. “You’re a scourer. Aren’t you?” 

“Is that the best you can come up with?” Cressida laughs. “Would a scourer be looking into your thoughts and giving you potions? I thought they hated anything magical.”

“Not always.”

“Well, would we be trying to fix you up if we were one of those nutsos?”

“Yes. Either you want me alive to reveal the truth to others, or you plan to turn me back over to him.” He coughs, doubling over as each convulsion wracks his body. “How much is he offering for my head?”

“Damned if I know. Probably not nearly enough considering how much trouble you’re causing.” 

“You’re a mudblood then.”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner.” Cressida lies. She’s sure he’ll see through it eventually, but maybe she can keep it up long enough until he’s out of their hair. Plus, she’s had enough of standing out in the cold. If they keep this up for much longer, she’s sure she’ll lose all her fingers and toes to frostbite. She reaches down and pulls on his arm, pulling him to his feet. He’s too tired to fight her, and stumbles against her when he stands. She automatically drapes one arm around her shoulders, and wraps her own arm around his middle to steady him.


	10. Chapter 10

Cressida feels like it takes forever to reach the safety of the tent again - especially with Graves leaning against her for support. He may be nothing more than skin and bones from his abuse at the hands of Grindelwald, but he’s still surprisingly heavy, and so very weak. He’s shaking by the time he collapses on the bed. She quickly pours him some of Mama’s potion and breaths a spell over the rim of the mug to warm the noxious liquid up. She's not sure she's saying the right words - Mama never taught her much beyond how to use her own abilities in legilimency and her gifts at divination - but the mug warms up under her touch.

“Here.” She shoves it in his hands. He wisely drinks it down while she hunts through Papa’s bag. She finds the vial of dittany and sets it aside. A jar of peppermint catches her eye, and she freezes as an idea occurs to her. Soon she’s picking through the bag once more and pulling out other herbs until three more little containers have joined the dittany on the vanity. She grabs a half empty glass of lemonade that was left behind from lunch and tosses the remaining contents out through the door of the tent. Someone yelps in surprise at being splashed, and she throws a half hearted sorry over her shoulder as she returns to her work. 

“Shirt off please.” Cressida commands him as she picks up the first vial.

Graves doesn’t move. He eyes the little glass jar. “What is that?”

“Dittany. You splinched yourself.” 

“Apply it to the scratches while you’re at it. It’ll help heal those too.” 

“No.”

“No?” His fingers fumble while unbuttoning the shirt, and it occurs to her that she should probably offer to help him with that. But the thought of assisting him with undressing makes her stomach flip flop and her heart skip a beat or two. Funny how it didn’t bother her while he was out of it, but that’s probably because he wasn’t staring at her so intently then. She decides that it’s his eyes that unnerve her so. They’re too bright. Too intelligent. 

“Papa will notice.”

“Ah. Smart girl.” 

She bites her cheek in an effort to keep from blushing, but she can still feel the warmth creeping over her skin. As soon as the wound is revealed she drops the thin liquid onto the wound and then quickly turns back to the vanity. She dumps the rest of the vials and herbs into the mug along with a bit of soft wax. As she mixes them together, he attempts to ask her questions about her background - what house was she in Ilvermorny? Where was her wand? Et cetera - but the stern auror act is interrupted by frequent coughing fits, and she’s too busy making sure she gets the salve just right, for the interrogation to turn up any results. 

By the time that’s done, Cressida regained enough of her composure that she feels she can face him again. Only her blush returns the second she realizes that she’ll need to slather his skin with the pungent salve for it to do any good. She hands him the mixture instead. “Rub this on your chest - it’ll help with the cough.”

Graves’s nose wrinkles, but he does as she says. Afterwards, he flops back on the bed, his chest rising sharply as he deeply inhales. Between the salve with its strong notes of mint, and Mama’s potion, it isn’t long before his cough is back in check and his breathing has eased. It’s not a cure, but it's definitely helping, and Cressida is more than a little annoyed with herself that she didn’t think of it sooner. 

“It’s something Mama used to mix up for us when we would get colds when we were younger.” She explains as she sets about fixing the stitches that popped during his escape. “Peppermint, and thyme. Some rosemary too.”

“Pukwudgie.” He says, his voice faint and distant.

“What’s that?”

“Pukwudgie.” His voice is a little firmer this time. For a moment, she thinks he must be talking about the magical creature, but soon he clarifies himself. “With your abilities, you must have been a Pukwudgie.”

Ah. The Ilvermorny house that supposedly favors healers. Cressida’s not surprised that he’s assumed that she’s one of them. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I was a Horned Serpent.” She lies. It’s the only house she’s knows more than two cents about since it was Mama’s house at Ilvermorny. 

“Then you knew Professor Arkin.”

“Who?”

“The Head of Horned Serpent. He was quite a terror when I was at Ilvermorny.”

Cressida grunts her reply as she tries to mimic her father’s stitches. She can’t remember if there was an Arkin featured in any of Mama’s tales of the great school or not. She’s well aware of Graves studying her as she works, just as she’s aware of the strong perfume of peppermint and thyme radiating from his skin. “Is the salve working?” She asks, in a desperate bid to change the subject. “You’re not coughing as much. Nor do I hear that wheeze rattling around your chest.”

“You’re not answering my questions.”

“Why do you need to know so much?” She pauses mid stitch to glance up at him. “You’re in good hands here. Just relax and heal, and then you can be on your merry way back to whatever sheba you might be stuck on. As for Arkin - he wasn’t so bad if you followed the rules.”

“There wasn’t an Arkin at Ilvermorny. Hasn’t been for years.”

“I wouldn’t remember - I was only there for a year or two.”

“They why would you say you do remember him?”

“I got him confused with another teacher. Armson, or whatever. He was over potions. But I may even be confused about that - it has been nearly fifteen years after all, and, again, I was only there for a year or two.” She stabs his skin with the needle, and while he doesn’t yelp in pain, she can hear the sharp inhale of his breath. She flushes a little, feeling bad for abusing him so. “Now please stop your nattering and let me focus.”

Graves only gives her a moment or two of silence before he starts in again. “Why were you only there for a year -”

“Or two.” She corrects him. 

His lips quirk upwards in something resembling a smirk. “- Or two?” 

“I had to come home and help Mama and Papa.”

“The law states -”

“I’m well aware of what the law states. I’m also well aware of what could happen to me for breaking the damn law.” Cressida finishes the last stitch and begins to wrap the gouges on his forearm with fresh bandages. “And even if I can’t remember who Professor Amson or Arkin or Zukov is and if they were a terror or not, I am very well aware of who you are. I’m at your mercy as much as you are at mine.”

“So you still stay abreast of things then.”

“To a point.”

“Do you have any recent copies of the Ghost?”

“There is one.”

“Can I see it?”

“If I can sneak it past Papa.” Now that she is done tending to him, she puts as much space between him and herself. She knows Vesta has a copy of The Sheik tucked away in her trunk. She’s read it twice already and she knows it’s pure trash, but it’s better than spending her evening being grilled by Graves. Between his questions, and their trek through the camp earlier, she feels completely and utterly exhausted. She plops down on Vesta’s cot and flips to the first page.

She can feel the frustration rolling off of Graves. As strong as his walls might be, the annoyance still leaks through the cracks like dark mist. He wants to continue with his interrogation. He’s used to having prisoners at his mercy. To being in control. After so many months of being at Grindelwald’s mercy, it must be beyond vexing to finally be free only to still be so dependent on the goodwill of others. As much as she might pity him though - her family must come first. So she presses her lips into a thin line and acts as if The Sheik is the most fascinating novel in the world.

Graves swings his legs up into the bed and arranges his pillows and his blankets around him to his liking. “Is there anything else in here to read?”

“Just dime store romances.” Cressida shakes her head. “Hardly the fine quality of literature I’m sure you’re used to.”

“Even a penny dreadful would be appreciated - anything to break up the monotony since conversation is not your strong suite.”

She feels the flush creep across her face again - clear up to the tips of her ears. “None of my customers seem to complain.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him looking about the tent. His gaze settling on and noting the pieces of past jewelry and silk shawls. “Ah. I see.”

She stifles a groan; he probably thinks she’s a hoochie coochie dancer or something. As embarrassing as it is to have him think so little of her, it’s better than him finding out the truth. Right now he might let her go, but if he knew she was practicing magic in front of no-majs - even though divination is something no-majs have been doing for years on their own - she doubts she can convince him to look the other way. So she bites her lip and buries her head in the book even though she would like to do nothing more than throw the offending text across the room.


	11. Chapter 11

At some point after their return to the tent - Cressida isn’t entirely sure when, for she keeps her head buried in her sister’s book - Graves falls asleep. His breathing slows in his slumber, and a soft snore whistles past his lips. She glances up at the sound, watching as he rolls onto his side, his fingers twitching on the thin fabric of the quilt. 

Cressida sighs in relief, and throws the horrid novel at the foot of the bed. She rubs her hands across her face, silently bemoaning the situation she’s stuck in. MACUSAs head auror knows that she is a witch. He knows that she is living among no-majs and practicing divination. She truly is more at his mercy than he is at hers. 

But at least her family is safe for now. 

Perhaps, once he is gone, she’ll take the little money she has tucked away and go visit Papa’s side of the family. He has a sister in California, one they visited many many years ago, on one of the circus’s rare trips out West. Maybe she can set herself up there for a while - at least until the heat from MACUSA dies down. But as soon as she thinks of it, she knows her plan is foolish. MACUSA has people everywhere. And Mama and Papa couldn’t survive without her. Vesta and Pandora would run them ragged within a week. 

Across the small space, Graves’s breathing picks up speed, and his little snore starts to sound more like a whimper. Cressida looks up as they change to moans. His hands start grabbing at the blankets, bunching them up in his fists. “No,” he pleads. “No. Stop.”

His voice grows louder as he pleads with whoever is tormenting him in his dreams. She watches him, debating about what to do. Should she dose him with laudnum like Papa did? Or wait it out? Shellshock is such a strange malady as it affects every man who suffers from it differently. Some suffer from only nightmares. Others get caught up in powerful delusions that hit them even when they’re awake. One of the carnies suffered from the latter, and it was so severe that he almost beat his brother to death before he finally committed himself. No one had heard from him since. 

Based on what Cressida remembers from his first night here, she is inclined to think that he is one of those whose dreams might turn into waking nightmares. Why else would he fight them so when they were trying to help him? Papa still has a vibrant bruise on his jaw from the man’s left hook. It may be best to leave him be and let the dream run it’s course - the last thing she needs is customer to turn away from her booth because she has a black eye. 

But Graves can do more damage than your average joe. She’d hate to see what a spell cast at a phantom foe would do. Some poor carnie might get caught in the crossfire, and what a mess that would make. There would be no escaping MACUSA then. 

She approaches Graves as if he’s a skittish animal, which, in a way, he is. She makes shushing sounds, and hums a little lullaby. When she reaches the vanity, she immediately searches through it, looking for the laudanum vial. She can’t find it. Papa probably hid it away somewhere for fear of someone stealing it. So instead she looks for something, anything, that might help usher Graves out of the memories that are tormenting him and into a deeper sleep. 

Papa’s bag bumps into the glass jars she pulled out earlier. They roll across the vanity and fall to the floor with soft thuds. She curses and bends to pick them back up, only to have Graves grab her arm. He looks right at her, not seeing her, not seeing anything, and he starts to squeeze. She winces under the abuse, and then an idea occurs to her. If she can use her abilities to read minds, perhaps it’s possible to also put thoughts into someone’s mind too?

Cressida decides it’s worth a shot. She opens herself up to him, feeling the fear and anger running just beneath the surface. Soon she is being dragged deeper, into his memories of Grindelwald, and all the abuse he suffered at his hands. The curses, the pain. Wounds being healed only to be reopened moments later. Over and over and over again. 

Somehow, Graves doesn’t break. Somehow, he keeps his lips sealed and his mind blank. But the torture takes its toll. He finds himself flinching whenever the blonde monster enters the room. What’s even worse is that the monster notices. He drags out the abuse, taking his time, like a cat toying with a mouse. He starts threatening Graves’s friends and colleagues. Still he manages to stay strong, but the fear eats away at him.

Cressida seizes on the memories of his friends. There’s a girl with dark hair, she would be pretty, if she didn’t look so serious all the time. But her appearance doesn’t matter to him. She’s one of his aurors, so he can’t think of her like that. Can’t think of any of them like that. Still, the girl manages to weasel her way into his life, following him around like a little lost puppy dog until she knows enough to be trusted on his own. 

He used to treat her to hot dogs when she was a rookie. Sometimes he even bought her giggle water and took her dancing when they went undercover at a speakeasy. Rather than trying to create a new dream for him to inhabit - she fears that anything she might think of wouldn’t be good enough - she settles on that memory and pushes his consciousness that way. She tweaks things a little though, to make it a little bit more alluring. She makes it brighter, so the colors pop, and adds the scent of lavender so it’s more soothing. The giggle water becomes a little bit stronger and the music louder to drown out the noise of Grindelwald’s curses. Anything to keep him in that happy place until he’s ready to wake.

To her surprise, it seems to work. She can feel him shifting, following the light and laughter and letting go of the darkness and pain. In the real world, she hears his breathing change yet again, settling back into it’s deep easy rhythm. His hand loosens, and she realizes she can pull away if she wants. She holds on though, waiting until he is fully sucked in before she finally lets go and retreats back into her own mind. 

Finally finished, Cressida opens her eyes and manages, somehow, to cross the short distance to the cot before passing out from exhaustion.

 

“Did everything go well?” Papa’s voice startles Cressida out of her light slumber. She looks up to find him standing over her. He’s still dressed in his ancient tux, the cuffs of his jacket frayed from use, with a faded top hat perched on his head. “It’s good to see you didn’t kill each other while I was gone.”

“Oh, everything was fine.” She lies. She swings her legs over the side of Vesta’s cot and glances over as she stretches, checking to make sure that Graves is still in bed and hasn’t tried to run off again. He is, and it appears that Papa’s arrival has roused him from his sleep as well. The auror blinks rapidly as he sits up, dashing the sleep from his eyes. He glances around the room, his brow furrowed with confusion, until his gaze settles on her. “Did you sleep well?” She asks, wondering if her little trick worked. 

He frowns ever so slightly, but she gathers that it’s more from surprise than actual anger. “Yes. Yes, I did actually.”

“Good. You snore like a freight train, y’know.”

“No one has ever complained before.” He shoots back, and she flushes at his words.

Papa looks back and forth between the two of them. His eyebrows are raised so high they almost touch his hairline, and the look in his eyes is curious and suspicious all at the same time. “Hm.” Somehow, his grunt makes Cressida turn an even darker shade of pink. She grabs Vesta’s copy of The Sheik and shoves it back in its hiding spot, happy to be rid of it while she tries to regain her composure. He sheds the jacket and drapes it over a chair, sets his hat on top of the vanity, and pauses when he sees the empty vials scattered about. “I thought you said everything was fine.”

“Well, Mr. Staid’s cough seem to be troubling him, so I made him a little bit of Mama’s salve to help.”

He held up one glass jar in particular. “And the dittany?”

She feels her heart stop. In her efforts to avoid Graves’s questions, she had forgotten to hide the bottle of dittany after she used it. “I thought it might help with those gouges.”

“Good idea.” 

Cressida sighs in relief. “Is there anything else you need me for tonight Papa? There might be some late night customers waiting and you know how Mama gets if I miss an opportunity.”

Finally noticing Papa’s get up, Graves looks in her direction and raises his own eyebrow ever so slightly in a silent question. 

“Papa is a magician for the show,” Cressida explains. “Card tricks, sleight of hand stuff - not real magic.” She adds after a moment. 

“Ah.” It’s clear that Graves doesn’t buy her explanation, and she can see him studying Papa discretely when the old man isn’t looking. Before she leaves to go though, he stops her. “Thank you. For your help. Earlier, I mean.”

She gives him a smile. “You’re very welcome. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are cards waiting to be read.”

He nods. “Yes, yes. Of course. I hope the rest of your night is easier.”

“Me too,” She whispers as she wraps her coat around her. “Me too.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should warn you - my experience with Tarot is limited to one reading a friend did many many years ago. So I may have gotten the spread that Cressida does in this chapter, and the cards involved in the spread and their meanings completely and utterly wrong. Google can only do so much, y'know? If I did get anything wrong, please let me know.

There is no one waiting for Cressida at the fortune telling booth. She’s not surprised; in this cold weather, guests don’t want to stick around - they’d rather go back home to their warm beds. She knows it’s what she would like to do. It’s probably a good thing, she thinks as she checks on the fire in the heater to make sure it hasn’t flared to life in her absence. She’s so exhausted from her efforts to ease Grave’s shell shock, that she doubt she would be much use at reading anyone’s future tonight. She doubts she could even keep up her horrible excuse for a Russian accent. 

She sat down at the table and pulls out the carved wooden box she keeps her tarot cards in. She extracts them, shuffles them, and cuts them. Once that is done, she spreads out the top five cards in a horseshoe across the table - left to right. The first card, to her surprise, is the Queen of Wands. Next up is the Tower, which is, honestly, what she was expecting. The Lovers follows the Tower - yet another surprise, and one that doesn’t make any sense to her any more than the Queen of Wands does. 

“Doing a reading on yourself?” Tinker’s voice surprises her. She looks up to see him standing in the entryway of the fortune telling tent as she flips over the fourth card in the spread - the Moon. It feels thicker than normal though, and she holds it up to discover that three cards in the deck have stuck together. Probably Pandora’s fault, based on the gummy residue on The Moon’s edge. 

“I’m attempting to.” She holds the cards up for him to see. “I think Dora’s been playing with the cards while I was watching over Papa’s guest.” 

“Isn’t he your guest as well? You are the one who found him.” He asks and plops down into the chair across the table. She pries the cards apart, the Fool and the Devil fall onto the velvet table cloth. Thankfully neither are damaged aside from the bent corners where she pulled them apart. “That looks ominous.” 

“I wouldn’t go on the lam yet - this probably isn’t hitting on all sixes.” But she continues on anyways. She flips over the King of Swords next, then the Three of Swords. Interesting. She drums her fingers on the table top as she contemplates them. Last but not least, is the Ten of Cups - which definitely conflicts with what the Three of Swords. “See? Definitely not hitting on all sixes.”

Tinker shrugs. “Looks like mumbo jumbo to me.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She gathers the cards back up and puts them back into their box. “What can I help you with, Tinker? Got a lady friend you need guidance on? I promise to be honest with you - unlike those chumps out there.”

He winks at her. “You’re the only one for me.”

Cressida slumps back in her seat. “I told you the bank is closed.”

“I know. I know.” 

“If you know, then why do you keep pestering me about it?”

“Because I know you’re playing hard to get.”

“I am not playing hard to get.”

“Yeah, you are. I remember how we used to go back and forth. You thought I was the cat’s meow then. Now you avoid me like the plague. But I see you still get that twinkle in your eyes when you spot me in the crowd.”

A laugh slips past her lips. She shouldn’t laugh, it’s only going to feed his delusions, but there’s no way to stop it now. “That’s not a twinkle. That’s tears because you won’t leave me alone.”

“Keep on telling yourself lies if it makes it easier, doll.” Speaking of twinkling eyes, his baby blues are shining brightly in the shadows of the tent at the moment. She’s always enjoyed his eyes. He leans on the table, giving her a better opportunity to appreciate them up close. “I see how you smile when I tease you about something. That smile you’re giving me right now. Come on - go out with us tonight.”

“My answer still stands.”

“Vesta will be there.”

Cressida raises her eyebrow at that bit of news. Vesta is supposed to be watching over Dora right now. “And that’s supposed to convince me to go how?”

“To help me keep them respectable.”

“Then I’ll go tell Mama and let her handle my dearly beloved sister.”

“Too late.” 

“Oh?”

“Sam ‘n’ her are already in town.” He smiles, like a mouse that finally snatched the cheese - no, like a cat that snatched the mouse. 

Oh, he has caught her well and good. He and his buddy Sam probably plotted this all along. She can feel his pride at setting things up so nicely. She starts to drum her fingers on the table again. “Of course they are.”

“Besides, your Mama told me to come get you and go and get her.”

“Well, if Mama insists, I guess I have no choice in the matter.”

“I guess not.”

 

It occurs to Cressida later, as they bounce down the road in one of the circus trucks towards town, that perhaps she should have told Mama or Papa where she was going before she let Tinker whisk her away. The road is dark, there is a mad wizard on the loose, and as much as Tinker is easy on the eyes and Mama approves of him, she doesn’t know a whole lot about him. It’s easy to sense that he has a shady past, but he’s locked up nearly as tight as Graves is when she tries to pry out details. In everything else he is an open book, but it’s that one little bit that bothers her. 

He was probably just a fall guy, she thinks. Or maybe a hooch runner, considering how fast he’s going over these back roads. It could be a lot worse, she thinks. He could be a scourer. 

Or an auror.

She shoots a quick glance at him as he finally starts to slow down, and smirks at her own ridiculousness. Sure they’ve had a bit of a stream of bad luck lately, but even they couldn’t be that unlucky to end up with two aurors in their camp. Plus Tinker doesn’t have a magical bone in his body. She’s sure of it. 

“What are you smiling about now, doll?” He turns down a rough street on the outskirts of town that is lined by equally rough buildings on either side. She’s sure she sees a red light in more than one window, and the yards around the houses are more like refuse piles than anything else. Why are speak easy’s never in the good part of town? 

“Just wondering how much Mama paid you to do this?” Cressida asks. 

He parks behind a ramshackle hut with equally ramshackle cars, and winks at her. “Who says I didn’t bribe her?”

Tinker helps her out of the truck, and keeps a firm grip on her hand as he leads her up to the door. Inside she can sense drunkards and dancers, all caught up in the frenzy of their favorite vices. It’s intoxicating and makes her head spin. She stops and glances around, looking for the other circus truck while giving herself a moment to prepare herself for the bombardment that’s about to come. She spots the other truck closer to the entrance, but it’s empty and probably has been for awhile now. “Looks like they’re here.”

“I told you they would be.”

“So what’s the plan then? We slip in and pull them out by their ears? Throw them in the rumble seat and high tail it back to camp?”

“You really want to go in there and disrupt the only watering hole that we have around here?”

“Oh, come on, I know you have plenty of hooch stocked up at camp.”

“Your third eye tell you that?”

“No need - I’ve seen you pass around your flasks when you think no one’s looking.” 

He chuckles. “Can’t pull the wool over your eyes. All right. All right. How about this. We go in, have a drink or two...”

“Ah-ah-ah.” She waggles a finger under his nose. 

“Okay then, no drinks. You just tell your sister that your Mama needs you both at home, and everyone goes home sober and grumpy. And here I thought you were fun.”

“I can be, but we both have work tomorrow, and while you might have just Norris to worry about - I have Mama and Papa.”

“Fair enough.”

“How about a truce? We get that coffee you’ve been pestering me about.” She jerks her head at the door. “Lord knows she’ll need some of the strong stuff to sober her up.”

Tinker groans. “When I suggested that, I meant me and you alone. Not with your kid sister in tow.” 

She crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s my final offer and I’m sticking to it. Now can we stop yapping and go inside? I’m freezing my dogs off here.” 

“Ladies first.” He bows and escorts her up to the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Tinker whispers something to the bouncer. The man claps his hand on his shoulder and then waves them through the door. Cressida stretches out her senses towards him as she passes, but as if there’s nothing there. He’s completely and totally blank. Now that she’s inside the hut, she can sense other blank spots around the room. They stand out like diamonds, gleaming through the frenzy of their comrades. 

“What is this place?” She asks Tinker above the janky tune a skinny man is banging out on an old piano in the corner. The poor thing is in desperate need of a tune - several of the keys are off... one or two by at least an octave - and it makes the hair on her arms stand on end. 

“I told you - it’s a speakeasy. A blind pig.” Cressida raises her eyebrows at his pronouncement; this is not what she envisioned when he told her about this place. He laughs at the look on her face. “Don’t let its cover fool you - there’s some good grade A hooch here. We can try some if you want.”

“I’ll take Vesta’s word for it.” She’s spies her sister sitting in the corner, draped over Sam’s lap and shoulders like a fox stole while he plays a round of poker. He’s letting her pick his cards, which seems a bit foolish. She must be doing something right though - there’s a wad of cash in front of him at the table.

Tinker gawks at his friend’s luck. “Maybe Sam should take your sister out more often.” 

“How about no.” She grabs his hand and jerks him towards the table. He tries to hide it, but she can feel him flinch at her touch. “I’m not going to bite you.”

“I know you won’t. You wouldn’t hurt a housefly. I wouldn’t want to be him though. What are you going to do? Curse him?”

Her heart skips a beat at the mention of curses, and visions of Graves’s body being twisted by the cruciatus curse dance across her eyes. “What makes you say that?”

“Everyone knows there’s something different about you girls. A little extra extra.” The pianist starts a new tune, and Tinker has to lean close so she can hear him over the music. “With your daddy being a magician, and you being a diviner of fortunes and seer of the future, it only makes sense that you might have a few tricks up your sleeves.”

She studies him from under her eyelashes. “Only thing up my sleeves is a rabbit or two.”

“That’s disappointing.” It’s hard to tell what he means by that, even though they’re still holding hands. He is completely guarded now. Locked up tighter than a bank vault. No matter how hard she pokes or tries to twist around his guards, she can’t get through.

“Oh, I don’t know, they keep me warm enough.” Cressida pulls him to a stop in front of Sam’s table. She pastes a bright smile on her lips and pretends to be excited to see her errant sister. “Vesta! There you are!”

“Cressy! What are you doing here?” The younger girl stumbles to her feet, knocking over her date’s drink in the process. “Oops.”

While the music doesn’t stop, Cressida can feel more than a few pairs of eyes turn their way at her sister’s high pitched voice. The sounds of Vesta’s glass shattering against the ground doesn’t help. She winces as the hooch splashes against her feet. Now her shoes are going to smell like a distillery for days to come. “We gotta go home, baby girl. Mama and Papa are looking for you.”

“Pshawwww,” Vesta drawls. “Mama and Papa don’t care what I do. You and Dora are the apple of their eyes!”

“That is not true, and you know it.” Cressida hisses and instantly regrets it. She had planned to keep the cheerful mask up until they got home, but Vesta’s obliviousness to others feelings grates on her nerves. The girl knows all the right buttons to push to get her ire up. 

“And how would you know? Took a look in that crystal ball of yours did you?” She reaches down and grabs Sam’s drink and gulps it down. A wince puckers her face as the liquor burns its way down her throat. 

The man Sam is playing against perks up at the mention of a crystal ball. “You that seer from the circus?”

Cressida can sense that Vesta wants to answer for her. She can practically feel the words bubbling to the other girl’s lips like champagne bubbles. She grabs her arm to silence her, then pastes that cheerful smile back on her face. “Maybe. Who wants to know?” 

“If you are, then you better skedaddle. We don’t like your type around here.”

“I’ll be more than happy to, sir. Just let my sister grab her coat and we’ll be out of your hair in a jiffy.”

Vesta jerks her arm out of Cressida’s grasp. “No! I’m staying!”

“But Vesta, Mama and Papa--”

“I told you! They don’t care about me!” She plops down on Sam’s lap. “Only person who cares about me is my Sammy-poo.”

There are more eyes staring at them now. Pretty much every soul in the place, and the mice in the rafters, has turned to gawk at them. One or two snicker at the scene, but most are silent and waiting for the next card to fall. 

“So much for not disturbing the locals.” Tinker mutters under his breath. “I bet the bulls in the next town over heard her.”

Cressida shoots invisible daggers at him with her eyes. “You’re not helping here.” 

“Well, you ain’t doing so hot either.” He steps in front of her, and leans down so that only Sam and Vesta can hear him. “You want to talk about people who care about you? Sammy boy here ain’t one of them. All he wants to do is get his hands up your skirts and have a little fun. Then he’ll dump you just like he dumped the last twenty dames before you.” 

Vesta jumps off the carnie’s lap like it’s made of coal, spilling her date’s drink in the process. The golden liquid splashes across the table, soaking cards, chips, and bills. Both Sam and his opponent leap to their feat. “Hey!”

“Sorry, pal.”

Vesta’s lower lip quivers. “It’s true then?”

Sam is quick to control the fire before it burns out of control. He pulls her close and whispers in her ear. “Of course not! I only have eyes for you! I’ve only ever had eyes for you!”

Rather than fall for his sweet words though, Vesta turns to her sister - which surprises Cressida. The girl might not believe in her abilities, insisting it’s all slight of hand and mumbo jumbo like anything else at the circus. And heaven knows they don’t even see eye to eye the rest of the time, but when it boils down to it, it seems Vesta knows that the older girl will always have her back. 

Cressida shakes her head at her sister’s silent question. It doesn’t take a legilimen to see that Sam is only after her for a roll in the hay. 

Vesta turns on the carny and slaps him. “You! You! You oaf! You bastard!” She continues to pound on his chest until Tinker finally pulls her away. Even then she proves to be a bit more wily than he was expecting. She squirms her way out of his arms, and rushes forward to land another smack on Sam’s cheek. This one, Cressida is sure, will probably leave a mark. “How dare you!”

Tinker grabs her and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He tips his hat as he carries her through the room. “Sorry folks.” 

“Witches!” Sam screams out behind them. “They’re nothing but a bunch of witches! The whole family of them!”

The piano player grinds to a halt with a clash of keys. Cressida freezes at the words and turns to face the carny accusing her. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re yammering on about.”

He advances on her, and she notices a few men stand up - they’re all the silent ones. Ones she couldn’t sense, and now she understands why. They’re scourers, just like Sam, and they’ve all been trained in occlumency. She isn’t sure which is scarier - that there are so many, or that they’re unified. This is more than just the ravings of the Second Salemers she read about in the ghost. “Your father the magician and his bag full of never ending tricks. Where does he hide everything in such a tiny case? I’ve looked inside. There’s nothing there.”

“It’s all slight of hand stuff. Just like that ace you have hidden in your sleeve.” She shoots back. Sadly it does nothing to distract him or his fellows from their purpose. 

“Oh yeah. How about you and that third eye of yours? Are those all just lucky guesses?”

“Absolutely.”

Now the man Sam was playing against stands up, his face is a vivid red in anger. “My wife left me over a lucky guess?”

“Shit.” Tinker mutters. He steps in front of her again and drops Vesta to the ground, pushing her in Cressida’s direction. “Get her out of here.” 

“But-”

“Go!”

Cressida grabs Vesta and hustles her through the front door and past the bouncer. Behind them she hears a dull thump as someone’s fist meets flesh, but she doesn’t stop to see who has punched who. Thankfully, the large man doesn’t stop them - instead he runs into the fray as more shouting and curses burst through the air.

They reach the safety of the circus truck, and somehow Cressida is able to start it and get it in gear without flooding the engine or stripping the clutch. As she pulls into the road, Tinker comes running into the yard and straight at them. He slides into the bed of the truck as they round the corner and speed into the night.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in updates. I've actually been working on getting one of my books ready to self publish in September. I'm in the editing stage on it - and I'm a bit burnt out on editing as a result... so there may be some typos in this newest chapter. I'm sorry if there are and I swear I will get to them eventually.

Just outside of town, Cressida pulls over on the muddy road so Tinker take over the driving. Her heart is pounding so hard that she’s sure it’ll leap out of her chest, and her palms are so sweaty that she can barely hold onto the steering wheel. The carnie hops out of the bed of the truck and clambers up onto the seat. Cressida gratefully slides over for him. Vesta is pinned between her and the door, but the girl is too busy sobbing to complain. As much as she hates to see her sister in pain, she’s grateful that at least she isn’t yelling or trying to smack her for ruining things. 

Once Tinker is settled, he shifts the truck into gear again. It rumbles forward, slowly at first, before speeding forward at a good click. If she thought going to the speakeasy was rough going, getting away from it is even worse. He pushes the truck to the very brink of its limits, until they are almost flying over the bumps in the road instead of having their bones rattled out of their skin by them.

“You don’t need to drive so fast,” Cressida finally complains after Vesta crying turns into whimpers of fear. “I think we’re safe now.”

“You think, eh?” He glances down at her. One eye is almost swollen shut from a lucky punch, but the other is good and clear and grim. “That kind won’t take too kindly to us interrupting their fun. And I’m sure the people behind that little club don’t appreciate the damage we caused.”

She snorts at that. “The place was falling down anyways.”

“Remind me never to take you to a gin joint again.”

“I told you the coffee shop would be a better idea.”

He laughs at that. “Maybe next time, doll.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“They aren’t all bad. Some of them are pretty swanky.”

For a moment her thoughts drift back to the memory she saw of Graves in that club. She was too occupied with easing the night terror at the time to really pay attention to what she was seeing in his mind. Now that she has the time though, she can see that it was just as dark and dingy as the speak easy Tinker took her to - though a little bit more on the sturdy side. “I don’t know about that.”

He grunts and turns back to the road, leaving her to her thoughts. Despite her best attempts to focus on the situation at hand - the Circus will probably need to move camp again, which means that they’ll need to pack everything and load it up so they can leave as soon as possible again - her mind keeps returning to the memory she saw in Graves’s mind. 

As much as she might say she doesn’t want to go to another speakeasy ever again, she is intrigued by some of the details she saw of the Blind Pig. Ugly creatures with long ears dashing in and out of the tables, serving up drinks that bubble and froth and glow. A green skinned lady with curves sings a song on a brightly lit stage, her dress glittering like tiny stars and scattering sunbursts around the room. She wouldn’t mind hearing music like that in person, if she ever had a chance to visit New York. 

The memory shifts and she spies Graves dancing with his fellow auror again. His cheeks are still sharp, but he’s healthy and fit. There’s a gleam in his eye, and a tilt to his lips, and his dark hair glints in the dim light. In that brief second in time, he looked more like the man from her dreams than ever and it sets her heart racing in a different way than Tinker’s driving does. For a moment it occurs to her that she’s in far more danger than she thought she was, but she shakes her head to banish that foolishness from her mind. 

An auror like him would never fancy a girl like her. 

Nor could she ever risk falling for a wizard like him.

And with Tinker as her only other option, it’s just better to stick to her resolution to be chaster than a nun anyways.

 

Back at the circus, Cressida leaves Vesta to the tender mercies of their mother. Though, she thinks as she heads to the peace and quiet of the tent to start packing the trunks, she doubts Mama will need to do much yelling. Vesta is sick to her stomach from the hooch, clutching a metal bucket for comfort and complaining at every little sound. She wants to believe that her sister will never do anything so foolish ever again, but she knows better. 

In the shelter of the tent, Graves is sleeping away, his fingers twitching as he wanders through his dreams. Thankfully, they seem peaceful at the moment, so there’s no need for her to intervene like she did earlier.

Cressida adds more firewood to the stove, then starts tucking away clothing and blankets in trunks. Jewelry and scarves are tossed into a carpet bag along with her limited supply of cosmetics. Once that’s done, she moves on to the mattresses and cots. The rugs will have to wait till morning, along with most of the furniture. And of course there is Graves to consider. He’ll probably have to ride in their car, which means he’ll figure out that there is more to the Polari’s than what she’s said. 

She hears the bed shift behind her, and dry cough signals that the auror is awake. She smiles - at least that is going in their favor. If the cough is drying out, then that means his lungs probably are too - which means he is that much closer to being out of her hair. 

“Water,” He manages to croak out. She rushes to pour him some more of Mama’s tea, but he waves her off. “I mean real water, please.”

“Sure thing.” So she does as he asks and pours him some plain old water from the pitcher on the vanity instead and hands it to him. 

He raises an eyebrow at her. “A simple charm would have done the trick in half the time.”

“Then why didn’t you do it yourself?” She snaps back, and his eyebrows promptly drop into a glower. “Oh. I see. The good old hocus pocus muscles still a little weak?”

“That’s a low blow.”

“It’s been a rough night.”

He glances around the tent, taking in the disarray. “So I see.”

“We’ll probably be leaving at first light. I’m sure some of the carnies will be along to bundle you up into the family train car shortly.”

“They should just leave me here. My people will come and find me.”

Cressida snorts. “Even though we may prefer that, we both know it’ll never happen. Besides, this town isn’t exactly friendly to our type. It’s better if you come with us.”

He cottons on to her meaning immediately. “Scourers?”

“Possibly. Or just good old country bumpkin superstitions of the unknown.”

“Some poor wife upset that you lured her husband away.”

She can’t help but snort again. So he had assumed that she was a dancer in the hoochie coochie show. Even though she knows it’s better to let him keep thinking that, she corrects him... if only because it gives her the opportunity to lord it over him that he was wrong. Which, she knows, isn’t exactly nice. He is an invalid after all. But she’s still jumpy from the speak easy and Tinker’s madcap driving. “Actually, no. A husband was upset that I suggested that his poor wife should leave him during a card reading.”

Graves’s expression isn’t what she expected. He’s not upset. Nor irritated. He’s cold like ice. “You did magic in front of a no-maj?”

“If you want to call it that. Divination has been around for ages. Wizard kind likes to think we have the monopoly on crystal balls - but humans have been doing it for just as long as we have. If not longer. Same thing goes for all those little herbs that have helped you. You want to think that we’re the only ones that knows a little of this and a little of that can bring down a fever or stop a stomach ache? The people beyond these walls? That little poor wife down the lane? Her sister? They know too. It’s all knowledge that’s free to anyone.”

“You sound like him.” His voice is tense and tight, the taint of Grindelwald rolling off him.

“I doubt that. From what I read in the Ghost, he wants to be in the open and rule over everyone. Tonight is further proof that that isn’t possible. Especially because they outnumber us.” He seems to relax a little at that. “All I’m just saying is that no-majs’ aren’t as dumb as you think.”

“I never said they were.”

“No. You just asked me to use a charm to get you some water. A charm that would have taken even longer to say then it takes for me to grab the damn pitcher and pour.”

“You could always think it.”

Cressida holds up her hand. “Only two years at Ilvermorny, remember? That’s not exactly covered that early in the curriculum.”

“One.”

“Hm?”

“One or two years, you said.” Graves finishes, and she snorts. Of course he would bring that up now. 

“Are you trying to trap me again?”

“Hardly.” He grimaces and shifts in the bed. Either his wounds are bothering him and he’s trying to get comfortable, or he’s embarrassed by what he’s about to offer. “I could teach you, you know.”

Cressida laughs at that. “You’re going to try to teach me everything that I missed in a tiny train car with my family all around. And you look at me like I’m the mad one.”

“Doing it in front of your family is out of the question, obviously. But you are a gifted legilimens, if you can guide my dreams like you did earlier, change my memories to make things brighter, then I don’t doubt that you can gather what you need to know from my mind. If I were to make that information available to you of course.”

She stares at him. She can’t help it. What he is suggesting is so totally unexpected, especially for someone like him, that all she can do is gape. At the same time her chest is aching with a desire to know more, even though this is a world that she can never be a part of. “That’s very generous but... I’m not that strong. I have to be touching you to get inside your head. Mama and Papa will get awfully suspicious if they see me holding your hand constantly. I’m sure the last thing you want to go back to New York with is a wife.”

He nods at that, his brow furrowing and his lips pressing into an even thinner line as he considers the problem. “We can try when you’re sleeping. Your natural inhibitions will be lower, which should remove any resistance, and may make touching on others minds without contact easier for you.”

“What about actually putting what I learn to use?”

“What do you mean?”

“Learning from reading your memories is all well and good, but it’s a bit like reading from a book. I can read that I need to do a running stitch to sew two pieces of clothing together, but how do I thread a needle? How is a running stitch different from a blanket stitch? Then there’s the practice. Putting it to use over and over again so I know what swish will fill a stupid cup with water and what flick might decapitate the glass instead. See what I mean?”

“Fair enough.” He lays back in the bed, his arms crossed over his chest as he mulls that problem over. “Again, if you are a strong enough legilimens to change my own memories of a particular event, I don’t see why you couldn’t build a place for us to practice in your mind.”

Cressida sits down on Vesta’s cot and nibbles at her lip as she considers what he is suggesting. Building a whole memory from scratch? She’s never done anything even remotely like that before. She didn’t even know that it was possible. But then she didn’t know that she could guide someone through a nightmare either, and look at where they are now. What’s the worst that can happen? She sleeps through his ‘lessons’? “I suppose it’s worth a shot. This isn’t breaking some rule is it?”

“Not that I am aware of. Most restrictions on magical education are for children, which you are definitely not.” He shifts in the bed again, and the springs creak under his movement. “And if there is some long forgotten law preventing it, well, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

She widens her eyes in mock surprise. “The head of magical defense is going to let me get away with breaking a law? Perhaps I should have Papa check that skull of yours for a fracture.”

“I am returning a favor with a favor. It’s not like I have any no-maj money to pay you back for everything you and your family has done. Hell, I don’t have any money at all.”

“Papa wouldn’t take it if you did.”

“Your father is a good man for a no-maj. I’m indebted to him. And you.” Graves closes his eyes. “Besides, as you so eloquently pointed out; I am as much at your mercy as you are at mine. And I imagine that, wherever this circus of yours is going next, it’s probably be a very long and boring train ride.”

“Possibly.”

“Perhaps this will break up the tedium. And perhaps it’ll help strengthen those ‘hocus pocus’ muscles.”

Cressida stands and smooths her skirt. “Well, then, since you’re asking so nicely, I suppose it’s a date.”


	15. Chapter 15

They don’t leave at first light like Cressida thought they would. Instead the manager waits until breakfast to announce that the circus is moving. Instead of blaming any one person or incident for the move, he claims that his joints are tired of the cold and could use the warm sunshine of California. Everyone is eager to move to warmer climes, and within the hour, the camp site is bustling with activity as tents are torn down and packed away.

Even though she is exhausted from the night before, and longs for the comfort of her own bed, Cressida does her share of the work. She packs away her tea, cups, crystal ball, and cards into a carpet bag and help the carnies load the trunks into the family train car. Inside Vesta is sprawled across the top bunk, an arm draped dramatically over her eyes. She moans and groans at every little sound, letting out the most pitiful whimpers. They grow louder, especially as a couple of carnies set about breaking down the table so that way there will be room for Graves’s bed. Mama watches it all from a safe spot by the other door, a scowl marring her otherwise handsome face.

Pandora grabs Cressida’s skirt as she passes and tugs on it to get her attention. “Is Vesta dying?”

“No, but she probably wishes she were.” She bends down to her sister’s level. “She’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Why don’t you go check on Barley? I’m sure he misses you.” Cressida suggests. Letting her sister visit the old tiger should keep her out from under everyone’s toes for the moment. “I’ll holler when it’s time to come back.”

Pandora’s smile brightens at the same time Mama’s scowl darkens. “Okay!”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mama asks, but it’s too late - her younger daughter is already gone, the heels of her shoes clattering against the iron steps of the train car. “I mean considering everything that happened.” She lowers her voice at the end so the men unscrewing the legs of the table won’t overhear them talking.

Cressida sighs. “I doubt they’ll try anything in broad daylight, Mama.”

“But if Sam was one of them...”

“We don’t know that. We don’t that any of them actually are... y’know. We’ve ran into superstitious folk before.”

“But they’ve never been so violent.”

“I’m sure all the booze didn’t help.”

Mama sniffs at that and sips at the coffee mug safely ensconced in her hands. “I wish we weren’t bringing that man along. There’s barely enough room for all of us in this car, and now your father is adding him to the mix? It’s a recipe for trouble in the making.”

You can say that again, Cressida thinks. Out loud she says, “Now you know he’s not healthy yet -”

“Your Papa has sent home people with worser coughs.”

“Because they have somewhere to go home to.”

“I’m sure he has people somewhere around here he can stay with.”

“Then why haven’t they come looking for him?”

“Mama...” Cressida sighs again. “Why don’t you like him?”

“He’s not a good man.” Seeing her daughter staring at her with raised eyebrows, she sighs herself. “He reminds me of a boy I knew when I was younger. Someone who tried to court me. He was arrogant, dangerous. With a temper to match those dark looks.”

Well, Mama has her there. Graves can be quite arrogant, and she doesn’t doubt that the man has a temper. And having him around is quite dangerous. But there’s nothing for it. They’re stuck with him for the mean time. At least he’s willing to teach her a thing or two while he’s with them. Mama has tried to pass on what she knows, but with Pandora getting older, they will need all the help they can get. 

“Even if he is all those things, he still needs our help. We can’t just turn him away based on a feeling.”

“Surely you see it too?” Mama’s eyes skim her face, but Cressida is quick to lock things down. 

“He’s no worse than Tinker.”

“Now there’s a good lad.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“He helped you with Vesta last night.”

Mama has her there. “Hmf.”

With a creak, the last table leg is freed from its bolts. It and the chairs are carried out by the carnies - off to be tucked away somewhere else in the train. As soon as it's gone, two more men carry in a cot and mattress and set about screwing it into the floorboards so it won’t slide about during the journey. As soon as it’s set up, Cressida and Mama make it with sheets and a blanket. 

“You can sleep in the bed with me.” Mama explains as she plumps a pillow. “Dora can sleep with Vesta. Papa will take the settee.”

Cressida feels her heart skip a beat at Mama’s suggestion. She’s not sure if distance will make a difference with Graves’s plan but she would prefer to be closer just in case. “I don’t think Papa will fit on the settee.”

“If our guest is still as ill as you say he is, then your father should be near his patient in case he needs him.”

As much as she wants to argue about it, Mama has her there. She stands back as Papa and another carnie help Graves up the steps into the train car, and settle him into the bunk. He’s sweating from the exertion, a fine sheen of dampness covering his pale skin, and his chest is rising and falling quickly as if he’s been running. 

Papa is also gasping for breath. He collapses onto the settee and drags his arm across his brow. “Well, that was a bit more of an exertion than I care for this early in the morning.” Mama offers him her coffee, and he takes a drink - nearly finishing it - before handing it back. Upon seeing that she only has the dregs left, Mama huffs and gives her husband quite the glower. “Come now, dear. It’s not so bad. We’ve been in tighter binds before, and it’s only for a few days.”

“And then we’ll be stuck inside because it’ll be windy and rainy.” Mama snaps. Graves opens his eyes at the sound of her voice and stares at her, taking in her neat but plain dress and her equally tidy hair. There’s something about her that piques his interest, Cressida can feel the curiosity rolling off of him, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

“You don’t know that.”

“California might be warmer, but that doesn’t mean the weather is balmy all the time.”

“Well, it’ll do these old joints good.”

“California?” Graves asks, interrupting the argument. “Will we be near San Francisco?”

Papa looks surprised to hear his voice - but then Graves probably rarely speaks in his presence on account of him being a no-maj. “I believe we will be stopping near Barstow - which is East of Los Angeles, from what I understand.”

“Ah.”

“Do you have family there, Mister Staid?” Mama asks, a rather intent expression on her face. At the moment she’s locked up as tight as Graves normally is, making it hard for Cressida to get a reading.

“Friends.”

“Ah.”

“Have we met?”

Cressida feels her heart stop at his words. Does he recognize Mama somehow? Does he know that she’s one of them? 

Mama’s face turns blank and her voice is flat. “No.”

“But she did help care for you during the worst parts of your fever.” Papa says, trying to soothe the tension even he can feel. “Perhaps that is where you recognize her from.”

“Yes. That must be it.” Graves agrees, just to appease the old man. It’s clear to anyone who has eyes that he doesn’t buy it. And Cressida has no doubt that once everyone is asleep, Mama will have a hushed argument with Papa about how he’s dangerous and needs to go. 

“May I introduce my wife, Demetria Polari.” Papa motions to Mama. She forces her lips into a tight smile and gives him a little curtsy. “I hope you’ll be feeling better soon, Mister Staid.” 

“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

“Let’s pray so.”

“My other daughter, Vesta, is in that bunk over there,” Papa continues. Vesta groans at the mention of her name, partly because her head is still pounding and partly because she’s annoyed at the attention not being on her - or so Cressida assumes based on the emotions rolling off of her. “And Dora, our youngest, is around here somewhere.”

“Here Papa!” Pandora comes barreling up the steps and into the train car. She plows right into Papa and collapses in a fit of giggles. Then she spies Graves and immediately bolts behind Cressida’s skirt, as if they’ll hide her from view. “Hello.” She squeaks out.

“Hello.” Graves gives her a smile that Cressida has never seen before - warm and kind and reassuring. It’s really quite amazing how it transforms his face. In fact, he almost looks boyish. But when his eyes meet her own, the warmth is suddenly replaced with judgement and anger. Somehow, he knows that Dora is one of them. That everything Cressida has said is a lie. And even though he’s agreed to a ceasefire, he’s none too pleased about it.

She lifts her chin up defiantly, then turns around and herds Dora towards the other side of the car. “C’mon, chickadee. Let’s get lunch together.”


	16. Chapter 16

It feels as if it takes forever for night to fall. Shortly before noon the train is finally packed to its gills and the engine blows a whistle as it lurches into motion. In her bunk, Vesta moans while the rest of them eat a simple lunch of cold pork, some cheese and bread. Cressida tries to go over Pandora’s letters and numbers, but the girl is too concerned about Barley to focus.

“He’s probably scared.” She whimpers as the white countryside rolls by the train.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Cressida sighs. 

In the corner Papa chuckles as he works on a crossword puzzle. Mama keeps herself busy by darning a sock. Graves snores away, pretending to be asleep. 

“Why don’t you draw a picture for him?” She finally suggests, wishing she had something to occupy her time with. She considers taking a nap, but she’s sure that might make Mama suspicious since she never naps, and the last thing she wants is to be accused of being sick and promptly slathered in her cough balm.

Once night finally does fall, and dinner is dished out and cleaned up, it feels like it takes even longer for bedtime to arrive. The sandman also decides to drag his toes - even though the rock of the train cars back and forth as the engine rolls along the tracks should be soothing, it’s a bit odd after being on solid ground for so long. Vesta continues to moan in her bunk above them all, occasionally pausing in her misery to complain about how Dora keeps tossing and turning. Finally, they both drift off, leaving only Mama and Papa awake. 

Cressida prays that Mama will decide to wait to talk to Papa until they reach the safety of California, but the woman is so angry that she won’t let things lie. Even though she tries to keep her voice down, her agitation fills the small space and lingers like smoke from a fire. It’s dark and rolling, punctuated by bright flashes of anger like lightening. 

“I knew it. I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on him.” Mama hisses to Papa, her voice sharp, like one of the blades in his doctors bag. “He’s one of them.”

“What do you mean?” Papa whispers back. His voice is softer, either out of confusion or in an attempt to soothe his wife - Cressida isn’t sure.

“You know very well what I mean. It explains why he won’t speak to us. Why he pretends to be sleeping all the day.”

“He’s still recovering, dear. He’s had a long hard battle.” There’s a clang as Papa stokes the fire in the stove. “Besides, Cressida said he was normal.”

“She’s lying then.”

“Do you really think she would lie about something like that?”

Mama sniffs, and mumbles a reply that’s hard to hear even though she’s so close by. There’s the rustle of fabric as Papa pulls her close. “You have put the fear of God into that child when it comes to her own kind. She is so afraid of them that she won’t even look at men.”

“I fail to see how that is my fault. That Tinker is a perfectly fine boy. She had the perfect opportunity with him last night, and look what happened!”

“That he is, but... are you really so blind, love? She doesn’t want to end up like us - constantly on the run from her own kind.” Papa isn’t that far from the truth, Cressida thinks as she rolls over in an attempt to get more comfortable in the bed. “Besides, last night is your own fault - you’re the one that let Vesta slip out.”

“Hmf.” Is all Mama has to say to that. “As soon as that man is healthy, he’s gone. Do you hear me? Let his own kind take care of him.”

“Fair enough. Now go get some sleep my dear.”

 

It’s surprisingly easy to find Grave’s mind that night. It helps that he is awake and waiting for her, his walls retreating back just enough that she can sense him. She picks through the few memories he lets her see, and settles on the Blind Pig. He resists at first - he would prefer the dark interrogation room, or his spartan office - but she’s stronger than him.

As the smoky speakeasy takes shape around them, she settles on a glitzy gown she spied in one of Vesta’s fashion magazines. It’s a dark red and covered in beads with a bit of fringe around the bottom. She chooses a matching feathered band for her hair, and imagines her normally lackluster locks have been tweaked into tight finger curls that would make any bright young thing purple with envy. 

A part of Cressida hopes that the get up will distract Graves from his anger, but she knows better. He’s far too good for that. And sure enough, when his astral form snaps into focus in front of her, he is intent on only one thing - scolding her like an errant child. “You lied.”

“Actually, I withheld information.” Cressida takes a drink a house elf offers her and sips at it. It’s pointless - the liquid held within the glass is a shadow of its former self. It doesn’t slack her thirst, nor does it offer any sustenance.

“Semantics.” There’s a sharpness to his voice, but he doesn’t snap and he doesn’t yell. Instead he projects disappointment. It’s quite an effective tool - her own parents have used it on her many times when she was younger - and she has no doubt that it sends his underlings sulking away with their tails tucked between their legs. “You could have mentioned that your mother was a witch, and that your youngest sister has magic in her blood as well.”

She sets the drink down. “And what good would that have done?” He opens his mouth to argue the point and she shakes her head, silencing him. “It doesn’t change anything. We are still at your mercy.”

“You are at my mercy? You outnumber me.”

“And if you wanted to, you could snap your fingers and have back up here in the blink of an eye - couldn’t you?” He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he leans against the bar, his fingers twirling a ring on the opposite hand. She quickly notes that it’s not a wedding band, but some sort of family heirloom with scorpions and a ruby. He’s wearing the robes from her dreams, the ones that are cut like a fine suit and lined in white, and she can see the ring matches the collar pins on his shirt. What a very apt creature for him to be so fond of. “So can you blame me for trying to protect those that I hold dear? Especially when I know what you do to those who break the law.”

“And what exactly do I do to those who break the law.”

“I’ve seen that room in my dream.”

He frowns, taking a moment to suss out what she means. Once it finally hits him, he looks downright offended at her suggestion. “We don’t kill innocents over their parents mistakes.” 

“Then what of my mother? What would you do to her? Is there some sort of jail for wizards? My father and Vesta - I know you would obliviate them - but Mama?”

“There are a few. But it’s really not my decision. There are judges and trials, just like in the no-maj world.”

“So she would either die, or be locked up. And with no Papa, Pandora and I would be on our own in a world that we know absolutely nothing about. I ask you again, can you blame me for trying to protect them?” She finishes the drink in one gulp. 

“Your father was right - you really are terrified of us, aren’t you?”

So he had heard that then. “I’m starting to think this was a bad idea...” Cressida starts to let herself fade, to retreat back to her own mind before he can give her the bum’s rush out of his. “See you in the morning.”

Graves surprises her by placing his hand over hers on the bar top. “Stay.”

“Excuse me?” She’s not quite sure she’s heard him right. Him touching her, even though neither of them are exactly corporeal, isn’t really helping matters either. She tries her best to play it cool, but she can feel her heart speed up, and a flush spread across her cheeks. 

“I stand by my original offer. This is your birthright. And, if you run into another wizard someday, you’ll need to know these things so you don’t arouse suspicion about yourself.”

“Trust me, I plan on avoiding all of you like the plague after this.”

“Even the best laid plans go awry sometimes. In my experience it’s best to have a plan B, C, and D ready just in case.” He finally lets her hand go, and waves down a house elf for his own imaginary drink. “Besides, having an untrained witch or wizard running around isn’t a recipe for disaster.”

“I do know some things.” Cressida replies, feeling defensive. “Mama has taught me everything she knows.”

“Like what? Herbs and how to read fortunes? There’s more to magic than that.” He downs his shot glass in one gulp and makes a face - though Cressida isn’t sure if it’s from memory, or disappointment that the drink isn’t more substantial. He pulls himself away from the bar and motions for her to stand up. “Show me what you know.”

And so Cressida does.


	17. Chapter 17

In the end, it turns out that Mama hasn’t taught Cressida nearly as much as she thought she had. Oh, she does know some basic charms, and, since she doesn’t have her own wand, she has developed a knack for wandless magic, but basically she has learned about as much as a third level Ilvermorny student. The discovery is more than a little frustrating - she had assumed that Mama had taught her everything she knew - but it’s clear that the older woman has held back. Either out of fear, or to deliberately handicap her, she’s not entirely sure - either way it stings more than she cares to admit. 

Graves is impressed that she knows even that much. He’s cast aside his cloak and strides back and forth across the space of the imaginary speak easy in just his shirt and vest, his scorpion collar clips twinkling in the dim light. He purses his lips as he thinks, eventually coming to a stop in the middle of the room. “I won’t be able to teach you everything.” He finally speaks after coming to some sort of a solution. “There isn’t enough time to do all that in three days. What we can do is focus on your strengths for the moment.”

“Charms and divination then?”

“Yes. Divination is... it’s not my strong suite. In fact, many don’t bother with it since it's open to interpretation. And legilimens are rare - so I can’t help you there. But I do know my fair share of charms, and we’ll cover some defensive spells for just in case.”

Already exhausted from going over her limited knowledge of magic, Cressida just nods her response. Since she doesn’t use her abilities daily like he does her magical stamina is practically non existent - she can’t really turn off her legilimency or divination abilities, but charms are something else entirely. Asking for a break, or to wait for tomorrow will waste precious minutes, so she forces herself to stand up. “Where do we begin then?”

“The basics. Since you know Aberto, Accio, and Aguamenti, let’s begin with Alohomora.” Graves guides her through the prononciation first, syllable by syllable, until she’s gotten it just right. Then he lends her his wand and shows her how to point it and channel her magic through it. It’s pointless, since his wand is only a copy, and it’s not like she has her own wand to use, but she supposes that it’s good practice for if she ever needs to borrow Mama’s for something.

Next up is Anapneo, followed by Ascendio. By the time the sky is turning pink beyond the windows of the train car, Graves has also taught her Colloportus, and Colloshoo. “Never get them confused.” He warns her. “One unlocks, the other will stick your feet to the ground. It was... quite a popular trick at Ilvermorny.”

Cressida smiles at that, wondering if he was the one casting it, or the victim. Probably a little bit of both. Her earlier exhaustion has abated with the thrill of learning practical spells and she’s eager to learn more. In the mirror behind the bar she can see her cheeks are pink with excitement and her eyes are flashing brightly with her new found knowledge. “Anything else?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“Oh hooey. There’s still plenty of time to learn another spell or two.”

He chuckles at that, a low sound husky sound that makes her body tingle. “It’s nearly morning. See, the dream is fading.” 

He’s right, she realizes with a start. The Blind Pig is a shadow of it’s former self. Everything is turning gray and misty, and the walls are almost translucent. “Damn.”

“While I can sleep the day away, you don’t have that luxury. You need at least a few hours of sleep in order to be functional.”

He has her there. Damn. “Right. Well, until tomorrow then, Mister Graves.”

“Until tonight.” He corrects her. “Percival.”

“Percival.” She’s known all along that that is his real name, of course, but it still pleases her that he’s giving her permission to use it. 

“Oh, and Cressida?”

“Yes?”

“Wear something more practical.”

Any pleasure she felt abruptly dies, shriveling up like a fallen leaf. “Yes, sir.”

“And while we’re at it, let’s go someplace a little less distracting... shall we?”

“Well, aren’t you a flat tire.” She grouses as she starts to slip away, fading from his memories like a ghost. “Fine. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

 

As much as Cressida knows she needs rest, sleep - real true sleep - is elusive. Mama is snoring in her ear, and Papa is just as loud. At least Vesta’s whimpering has stopped for the moment, but Dora is mumbling something about Barley. It seems that even in her dreams, her sister is still stuck on that dumb tiger. 

Graves is out cold. She can hear his breathing, slow and steady, interrupted by the occasional hitch as something in his mind troubles him. Her training may have distracted him for awhile, but it’s clear that the memory of Grindelwald’s care lingers just below the surface - and it probably will for many years to come. She reaches out to him yet again, following the dark clouds that litter his dreams, and pushes him in the direction of a happier memories. She’s not sure what they are, for they linger behind that tall stone wall of his, but anything is better than the shadows that plague him at the moment. 

He sighs, and she smiles to herself and finally allows the sandman to claim her - only to be awoken moments later by Pandora pouncing on her. “Good morning sleepy head!”

“Ow, Dora - really?” Cressida groans under the abuse. The girl skitters back to the end of the bed, giving her room to sit up. To her surprise, it’s a bit of a struggle; her head is pounding, and it feels as if every muscle in her body is aching. 

Right - she used more of her abilities in a few hours, than she’s ever used in her whole life. She collapses back against the mattress, her hands pressing against her temples to keep her brain from beating it’s way out of her skull. 

“Did you have too much to drink like Vesta?”

“No.” She’s more than a little surprised that Dora knows about what is plaguing their sister, but then it would be hard for her not to learn the truth with them all pack into the train car like sardines. 

“You aren’t getting sick are you?” Mama asks, pressing her hand against Cressida’s forehead. 

“No. I just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“You feel hot. Papa, come feel her head. I’ll make you some tea.”

Cressida rolls her eyes. So much for avoiding one of Mama’s potions. “Horsefeathers. I’m fine. I swear it.”

“You are a bit toasty.” Papa observes upon touching her skin. “But then it is rather toasty in here. Perhaps we don’t need to have the fire stoked quite so warmly.”

“Thank you.” She sighs in relief. He winks at her before turning away to retreat back to the settee.

“I’m still going to make you some tea though. We could probably all do with a sip. Who knows what miasma is in the air.” Mama glances in the direction of Graves, still dozing away on his bed. It’s clear she thinks he’s to blame for all this - and she isn’t that far from the truth, Cressida smothers a snort. Mama mistakes the sound for a sneeze though, and so she makes sure that her eldest gets the first cup, and strongest, cup of her tea. It makes her eyes water as she gulps it down.

But at least her headache gives her an excuse to lay about in bed all day. She slips in and out of sleep, catching up on the hours she missed while training with Graves. The rest of the family moves about the train car, struggling to find ways to pass the time. Mama works with Pandora on her school books. Vesta continues to moan and groan in her bunk. Since Vesta’s hangover should be long gone by now, Cressida thinks her behavior is more of a cry for attention than anything else. Unfortunately for her, no one seems inclined to humor her at the moment, so it continues on and on until Mama slips her something in her tea. Or maybe Graves casts a spell at her. Cressida isn’t entirely sure. She thinks she sees him wiggle his fingers, but she doesn’t think he would be so daring with Mama around. 

Or are wizards able to cast spells around each other without the other person being aware of it?

It’s something to ask him later tonight.


	18. Chapter 18

It’s nearing dinner time when there’s the sound of footsteps on the roof followed shortly by a knock on the door to the car. 

Cressida had just started to doze off again, and in a desperate bid to get a few more minutes of sleep, she burrows down underneath the covers of the bed. Before she does, she catches a glimpse of Graves opening his eyes, one eyebrow arched in surprise at the sound of a fist on the door. She doesn’t blame him - the train is still rolling steadily along, the car rocking from side to side as it goes. However, it’s not unusual for some of the more daring carnies to walk along the roofs of the cars. Usually they’re spurred on by spending time with their lady loves in the single ladies car behind the Polaris. Though sometimes they will spread news from the engineer driving the train or from the manager along the cars. Clearly, this is one of the later situations, and not the former. 

To Cressida’s surprise though, when Papa answers the door Tinker is on the other side. 

She peeks out from under the blankets just enough to see him tip his hat. “Mr. Polari, mind if I step in for a moment? It’s a bit breezy outside.” 

Papa is just as stunned as the rest of them. He blinks, once, twice, and then finally steps aside to let the carnie step into the train car. Then leads him past the bed where Cressida is hiding, towards the settee and the stove. 

Vesta groans from her bunk as he passes. Dora eyes him suspiciously. Mama, however, greets him with a broad smile and a hug. She waits until he’s occupied discussing the weather with Papa, then hisses at Cressida to get out of bed. 

Cressida glares at her. “You planned this didn’t you?”

The older woman plays dumb. She sniffs, “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“Baloney!” She keeps her voice low so he can’t hear, but no doubt he can feel the tension in the air. It’s thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Regardless of if I did invite him to dinner, or if he chose to stop by on his own, he is still our guest and you should be up and out of that bed to visit with him.”

“Fine.” Cressida grumbles. So much for being ill and needing to stay in bed. She flings back the blanket, grateful that she is still wearing her day dress from earlier - it’s wrinkled from being slept in, but at least it’s clean. There’s no need to bother with shoes in the small space, so she slides a little in her stocking feet as she heads towards the settee. Papa immediately leaps up to either catch her or make room for her. She waves him off, choosing to lean against the wall instead of crowd herself next to Tinker’s broad shoulders. “So what brings you around these parts?”

“The promise of a good home cooked meal.”

“They don’t have that in your neck of the woods?”

“Nah.” Tinker shakes his head. “Cookie’s up with the Boss man and his missus. So we’re left to our own devices, which seem to consist of sandwiches, beans, coffee, and more beans.”

She wrinkles her nose at the options he lists off. She can’t really blame him for accepting Mama’s offer then if that’s all the carnies have to munch on until they get to California. “I’m not sure anything we have is any better.”

“Ah, but the company is certainly better.” 

“Oh, you slay me.”

Vesta chooses that moment to groan again, and he raises his eyebrows at the sorrowful noise. “Is she still splifficated?”

“Nope, just nursing a broken heart. Though I’m not sure our Mr. Staid here is fairing much better. All this hustle and bustle will probably set him back for a bit.” Speaking of Staid, Graves is pretending to be asleep again. She can see a muscle in his cheek twitch though at the mention of his name.

Papa chooses that minute to interrupt. “Now Cressida, Mr. Staid is made of sterner stuff than that.”

“Not to mention, he has one of the best nurses to watch over him.” Tinker adds, giving her a wink. “I’m sure he’ll make a full recovery under your tender hearted care.”

She snorts at that and Graves coughs in his ‘sleep’. “All I’m saying is that our company probably isn’t much better than your friends up at the front.”

“Well, then, let’s just agree that you all smell far better than they do.” Another wink is tossed her way, and Dora giggles from where she is perched on the bed. He leans towards her and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t think your sister cares for me very much.”

“That’s cause she’s an old maid.” Dora whispers right back. “She’s never going to get married.”

“That so?”

“Yup. But I’ll marry you if you want. Mama says you’re a real catch.”

“Dora!” Cressida hisses, totally shocked that her little sister would be so bold. She can feel her cheeks start to burn from mortification.

Tinker laughs and pats her on the head. “Thanks for the offer, sheba, but you’re a bit young for my taste.”

“That’s okay.” She stares at him for a moment, a little frown appearing on her otherwise sweet face. "I’m not sure I like you much anyways. Your thoughts are too dark.”

A number of things happens at once. Cressida can feel a wave of fear gripping her belly. The last thing the Polaris need is another legilimens or seer, but it seems like the girls gifts are leaning towards that way. All the more reason to continue for her to continue her lessons with Graves, she thinks. That way she can pass on some of his knowledge since Mama clearly won’t. Meanwhile, Graves starts coughing again, loud and deep, and Papa rushes to his side with the glass of laudanum in his hand. Mama snaps at Dora to mind her mouth, and Tinker... Tinker’s eyes are as dark as the night sky outside the windows as he stares at the girl. There’s something calculating about his expression, and Cressida doesn’t like it one bit. 

She reaches down and grabs his hand, pulling him to his feet and towards the door. “Why don’t we have a little palaver outside where there’s a bit more room and no little sisters to annoy us with crazy ramblings?”

“Are you sure your parents will be okay with that?”

“Mama won’t mind, and Papa’s a little occupied. Besides, it’s a bit crowded in here, don’t you think?” Cressida grabs her coat and quickly wraps it around her shoulders as she steps onto the platform. Outside the door of the train car, the snow swirls around them as they steam on ahead. “Sorry about that. She’s a bit odd.”

Tinker shrugs and leans against the railing. “It’s not surprising considering the family she comes from.”

“Oh?”

“Your dad is a magician. Your mother used to be a fortune teller. Then there’s you. It was only a matter of time before she started showing some sort of gift too.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. At least he’s sticking to the belief that they’re just blessed with the ‘sight’ and not accusing her of being a witch like his buddy Sam did. “Right.”

“Might not be a bad thing.”

“How so?”

“If you ever decide, one of these days, that maybe the spinster life isn’t for you, she can always carry on the tradition of reading tea leaves and flipping cards over and all that mumbo jumbo.”

The laughter bubbles out before she can stop it. “I doubt anyone would want to take on this old ball and chain.”

“You might be surprised.”

Cressida sighs. “Tinker...”

“I know. I don’t have much to offer you. But maybe... one day... soon.”

“It’s not that.” She didn’t need fine things. Though, four solid walls and some privacy might be a little nice. She had no doubt that if she were to open the door right now, her mother would be listening at the keyhole. “We barely know each other.”

“I’ve been a part of this circus for nearly ten years-”

“And not once have we ever had a serious conversation.” She cut him off. “Everything has been topographical. Just beating our gums.”

“Well if you would let me take you to a gin joint or to get some coffee, then maybe we could change that.”

“I’m flattered. Truly I am. You’re a grand sheik and a good friend and I appreciate everything you did for my sister yesterday - but I’d rather not be handcuffed to anything just yet.”

“Can’t blame a fellow for trying.” Tinker nods at the rings on her fingers. “If you decide to change out those manacles for the real thing, just let me know.”

She smiles up at him. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Just don’t go trading me in for that stiff in there. I don’t think you’ll get along too well with his kind.”

Her smile starts to falter and her brows draw together as she frowns. “What do you mean?”

He opens his mouth to explain, but before he can start, Mama pops her head out. “Dinner’s ready!”


	19. Chapter 19

Dinner isn’t anything special - just boiled beef, potatoes, onions, and cabbage in some broth. There’s also a loaf of rough bread that they split and pass around. Graves has recovered enough from his coughing fit to eat some, though Papa sits nearby in case he needs help. Cressida feels more than a little disappointed; she had hoped to sit next to the auror in order to put as much distance between herself and Tinker as possible. Well, as much space as possible in the narrow train car. However, he probably wouldn’t have been able to offer very much in the way of an excuse as he passes out as soon as he eats his meal.

After dinner, Tinker produces some sweets from his pocket to share - probably in an attempt to win over Dora, Cressida thinks. She quickly discovers that her assumption is correct when the carnie offers the girl the largest piece of candy from the bag. However the girl turns her nose up at it, and hides behind her big sister despite Mama’s admonishments to apologize and take the sweet.

“What happened to ‘Candy will rot your teeth’?” Vesta snaps from her hiding place on the top bunk. The cloud rolling off of her is a mixture of embarrassment and jealousy. Embarrassment over the fact that she’s been such a fool, and the very man who rescued her from her thoughtless behavior won’t leave. Jealousy over the fact that Dora has always been babied and allowed to get away over things, and that Cressida, the old maid, has a boyfriend when she, the young and more attractive one, doesn’t. Not to mention the fact that Mama is encouraging him. The emotions leave a sour taste in Cressida’s mouth.

“One little sweet won’t hurt.” Mama says with a smile.

“Yes,” Cressida agrees. “But it is almost bedtime for little eyes and ears, and I’d rather not deal with her bouncing off the walls. Do you?”

Mama hmfs at that, but she can’t argue with her eldest daughter’s logic. Cressida ushers the little girl up the ladder into Vesta’s bunk. Vesta scoots over for her, and helps tuck her in before rolling over so that her back is to them all. Cressida can’t help but smile to herself, no matter what she might say or how she may feel, she has just as big of a soft spot as the rest of them.

Down below, Tinker declines the coffee Papa offers him. He bids them all goodnight, but he lingers by the door expectantly afterwards. Cressida knows that he is waiting for her to see him out. He wants to kiss her and convince her of the error of her ways. However, rather than give him any opportunity, she continues to fuss around the settee and stove. She picks up the plates and puts them in a bucket to be cleaned later. She adds more wood to the fire. Anything to avoid being alone in his presence by herself.

Mama gives her pointed looks, and tells her repeatedly that she can do all of her chores later, but Cressida continues working. Finally, Tinker gives up and leaves.

“You could have been nicer to him.” Mama snaps as soon as his feet pass over the roof.

“You could have not meddled in my love life.” Cressida snaps back.

"That's what mothers do. Especially when their daughters refuse to take initiative."

“He wants to get married.”

“What’s wrong with that? He’s a good man.”

“Who has dark thoughts.” Cressida crosses her arms over her chest. “What kind of good man has dark thoughts.”

“So? That could mean anything.”

“Mama, please.”

“Vesta is young. She was probably just imagining things.”

Her daughter hisses, “You know that isn’t true. She’s more of a seer than I am.”

Mama gives Graves’s still form a pointed look before turning her glare on her. She lowers her voice to a barely audible whisper. “Do I need to remind you to watch your words? Or are my suspicions about that man and the threat he poses correct?”

Cressida glowers right back at her. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Mama. Both with Tinker, and with him.”

“You better rethink that man’s offer.”

“And you better stay out of my love life.” Cressida wraps herself in her coat once more and steps back out onto the platform rather than continue the argument. Behind her she can hear her mother venting to her father about bright young things and their ideas.

For a moment she considers hopping across to the next car, and crawling along the roofs until she reaches the single women’s car. But she’s not wearing any shoes, and her stocking feet would slip and slide all over the roof. Jumping off the train isn’t an option either. They’re deep in the mountains now with snow covered trees whipping by on either side. Besides, she can’t leave Graves to fend for himself. Though, honestly, the man is probably better equipped to handle these situations than she is.

But she’s not about to go back in there. Not while Mama’s all in a lather, so she huddles down in the small indentation the door makes and pulls her knees up under her chin. Then she finally lets go of the tears that have been building up inside.

 

It feels like hours have passed, but maybe it’s only minutes, when Papa opens the door and motions for her to come back inside.

“Where’s Mama?” Cressida asks, peeking through the opening into the warm train car. The lights have all been turned down low, and aside from herself and Papa, everyone seems to be asleep.

“In bed, pretending to sleep.”

“Hmf.” Is all Cressida has to say to that.

Papa leans against the doorway. “She’s also swearing that she won’t talk to you unless you agree to marry that boy.”

She raises an eyebrow at that. She wasn’t aware that she was inside of some sort of Jane Austen novel. “That boy isn’t ready for a ball and chain yet and probably won’t be for a few years yet.”

“Most are never ready, really.” Papa agrees. “I thought you liked him though.”

“I do, but I’m not in love with him. I never was and I never will be. I mean, he’s good looking on the eyes and all, and he’s certainly got moxie, but...” She shrugs and lets him pull her to her feet. Once inside the train car, she sits down in front of the stove and opens her coat to let the warmth wash over her body.

“Your Mama is just worried.”

Cressida looks up at the top bunk where Dora is sleeping soundly next to Vesta. “She has bigger things to be worried about than my marital prospects.”

“I agree.” Papa reaches down and squeezes her shoulder. “Sleep on the settee tonight. Mama probably wouldn’t let you get any rest if you’re with her.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

“Get some rest.”

She nods and stretches out on the settee - well, as much as one can stretch out. Really, it’s amazing that Papa slept through the night on such a tight space. If she's having to curl up as tightly as she currently is, she can't imagine how he fit his lanky figure on here. Did he fold himself into thirds? Quarters?

But there's no time to muse over it right now. Since everyone is asleep, it's time for lessons. Cressida takes a deep breath and then another. She clears her mind and within moments, she’s knocking on Percival’s wall.


	20. Chapter 20

Percival goes a bit slower when tutoring Cressida that night and the next. His coughing fits have returned - it seems the cold winds of the plains aren’t any easier on the lungs than the damp cold of New York. The stress of being stuck on a train with no idea what is going on in the rest of the wizarding world doesn’t help matters either. He isn’t used to being out of the loop and out of control. He also doesn’t care to be so dependant on others. He is a man of action. He wants to be out there tracking down and putting a stop to the dark wizard. However his slow recovery keeps him chained to his bed, and it chafes his psyche. Cressida can feel his frustration rolling off of him during the day time as he watches the endless snow drifts of the plains speed by.

His nightmares seem to be getting worse as a result of his setbacks. Cressida tries everything she can to distract him during her lessons, and she tries to push him in the direction of good memories once they finish for the night, but it seems that the Grindelwald is even starting to taint those. Hundreds of miles separate the two wizards, but the shadow of the dark wizard and the damage he has done looms large and it certainly doesn’t help Grave’s mood. 

Though, Cressida thinks, she can’t really blame him. Try as Graves might to block her from certain parts of his mind, flashes of the abuse he suffered at Grindelwald’s hands bleeds through his walls when he sleeps and starts to taint her own dreams. In the mornings, she wakes up sore and stiff, her body aching from the curses the dark wizard enjoys inflicting on others. 

As a result, Cressida is just as irritable as her tutor is. Mama won’t let up about how she needs to give Tinker another chance. About how he’s such a good man. And on and on and on. She takes to sitting on the steps just outside of the door for most of the day in order to escape Mama’s nagging. She knows that doing so is courting frostbite, but it’s better than blowing up at her mother. She can’t wait until they reach Barstow and she can retreat to the fortune telling tent. Unfortunately, it’s going to be another day, maybe two before they reach California; the winter weather is hard for the older engine to navigate through, and they’ve had to make additional stops for extra coal, water, and other supplies since so many members of the circus were unprepared to move.

The only person who does seem to be in a good mood is Vesta. As they get ever closer to California, she seems to come out of her shell more and more and more. She’s eager to feel the sunshine on her skin, to see palm trees and the ocean, and, most important of all, to see movie stars. She seems to believe that some director will see her walking along the sidewalk and pluck her up to put her in his latest film, and so she spends her time primping in preparation for her big break. 

No one has the heart to tell her that Barstow, the town they’re headed for, is about as far from Los Angeles as the tiny farm community they were camped in was from Broadway.

 

“You’ll be leaving us as soon as we reach California, won’t you?” Cressida dares to ask during her lessons on the third night. The train has left the plains behind and, after inching its way across the rocky mountains earlier that afternoon, they are currently speeding away through the Mojave desert. By tomorrow afternoon they should finally reach their destination. 

“Perhaps.” Graves is leaning against the stark white wall of the interrogation room she plucked from his memories. He’s pale and sweating, and every so often a cough shakes his body. “I need to get a recent copy of the Ghost, so I can see what’s going on. It’s quite possible that Grindelwald used my image to infiltrate MACUSA. He would be a fool not to.”

“How could he do that?”

“There are potions and spells that can help a witch or wizard impersonate one another.”

“Spells that you won’t teach me.” It’s a statement, not a question. She’s learned over the past few nights that while he’s more than willing to help her master the necessary spells to defend herself, there are some things, like the dark curses, that he won’t even discuss.

“They require very advanced training - things that are not even taught at Ilvermorny.” She hmpfs at that, and one of his small smiles quirks his lips. “It’s not something that can be mastered in an hour, like aquamente or stupify. They also require specific ingredients that you wouldn’t be able to get out here.”

She plucks at a loose thread on her shirt sleeve. “And if he has? Impersonated you that is.”

“I’ll need to reach out to someone I can trust.”

“Like that brunette?”

He stares at her in confusion, but it’s only for a moment. “Tina? She’s trustworthy, but she’s not an auror anymore. She was demoted for getting too involved in a situation involving some scourers.”

“The second salemers.”

“Yes. For someone who has never had the opportunity to be around her own kind, you are well informed.”

She shrugs, “Or you just think too loudly.”

“Unlikely. I’ve spent years learning to block legilimens like yourself.”

And it’ll probably take him a few more years to rebuild it after all the damage that Grindelwald did to it. “I don’t know if Barstow is big enough to have any witches or wizards.” Cressida redirects the conversation back to the original subject, rather than point his weaknesses out to him. “But if it is, I’m sure Mama will get a copy of the paper. Then I can sneak it to you when she’s done. She has a couple of copies in a hatbox under the bed, but they’re all old ones, so they wouldn’t do much good.”

“I’m surprised she dares to go near other wizards.” He scratches at his jaw, his fingers grazing over the bristly scruff there before moving to rub the back of his neck.

It’s an offhand comment, one that most would assume was just a general observation based on the little he knows about them, but she can feel that there’s more to it than that. “What do you mean?”

Graves freezes. “Only that your mother has made it very clear that she doesn’t care for other wizards, and she’s spread that prejudice to you to protect you by filling your and your father’s head with foolish fears. So it’s shocking to me that she would care about what is going on in our world and would bother to check in from time to time if she is so determined to leave it behind.”

Lies. She can feel his alarm at her picking up on his slip up leaking through those cracks in his mind. It’s bordering on panic. “What else?”

He avoids the subject by stepping away from the wall and pushing the rolled up cuffs of his sleeves higher up on his arms. Once that’s done, he pulls out his wand from the pocket of his vest he had tucked it into. It’s a sleek thing, all dark wood and bright silver with a bit of mother of pearl to catch the eye. “Now we’ve covered all the basic spells plus a few others. Is there anything you’d like to review?”

“If you tell me what you really mean, I’ll try to get those old copies of the Ghost to you sooner.” She refuses to let up. 

“You said yourself that they’re old and wouldn’t do me any good.”

“Please, Percival. Mama refuses to talk about anything that happened before she met Papa.”

“It’s not my story to tell.” Graves’s sighs. “But know that Demetria comes from a very old and well known family. One that has been looking for her for a very long time. I’m impressed that no one has recognized her and reported her yet. Actually, how has no one recognized her? Is she obliviating everyone she encounters?”

Cressida flushes. How dare he suggest that Mama would do something so vile! “She would never-”

“Actually, I think she would.” He cuts her off. “I know it’s hard for you to accept right now that she’s capable of such a thing given her recent behavior, but it’s easy to see that she loves you and your sisters. A blind man could see it. She would do anything to protect you. She’d probably throw me off this train if she could.”

“Oh she wants to.”

He chuckles at that. “I’m not surprised.”

A thought occurs to her. Remembering the conversation she had with Mama a few days ago, she asks, “She said that you reminded her of a boy she knew once. Someone who tried to court her.” She flushes as he studies her, trying not to think about the man before her dancing with Mama or holding hands with her. It’s foolish, really. He’s younger than Mama, unless wizards age differently. And if he had, why didn’t he say so earlier? “I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my beeswax.”

“I was too young.”

“I thought so.”

“But my brother wasn’t.”

“Oh.”

“He was foolish enough to think a marriage between the two of them would bring pride to our family. As if being a descendant of one of the first American Aurors isn’t enough. She let him know she didn’t agree with his idea and poured a cup of tea over his head - much to the embarrassment of her parents.”

She laughs at that. “And yet she’s spitting nails over me turning down Tinker!”

His eyes sparkle with a bit of mischief. “Try dumping some coffee on him. Maybe then she’ll get the message loud and clear.”

“I doubt it. What happened to your brother? Did he finally find some girl that would fall for that line and get shackled to him?” 

“He died in the war.”

Cressida feels her heart stop at that. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s been a long time. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Any Ma and Pa looking for you?”

“No. They also passed away. Though I sure their portraits might be wondering where I am.”

“How can a portrait wonder that?”

“Wizard pictures move.”

“I know that.”

“Like pictures, paintings move too. But, unlike pictures, they can talk.”

“Well that’s the bee’s knees!” Cressida looses herself for a moment, her astral form becoming foggy as she tries to imagine what chatting with a painting would be like. 

“Now - let’s get back to reviewing those spells.” Graves’s words snap her back to the present and the dream room they’re currently standing in. 

“Sure,” She rolls up her own sleeves and adjusts the bandana currently holding her hair in check. As she does so, a vivid image of the picture of the soldier in Mama’s hat box dances across her mind’s eye. “But can I ask one last question?”

He sighs again, clearly anxious to get back to her training. “Go ahead.”

“Did Mama have a brother? Someone who was also in the war?” 

“No.” 

“Are you sure?” She shows him her memory of the picture as if that might help his own ability to recall. 

Graves frowns and stiffens as he ‘sees’ it, and even though the emotions rolling off of him are confused at best, it’s clear that he knows who the man in the uniform is. He blinks and shakes his head, clearing it from his mind and the cloud around him pulls in close until it’s neatly contained. “That would be Emil Weiss.”

“Who’s he?” Cressida could try to pick at his brain again, but his walls are far more focused than they have been since he arrived here. There is no way she could get through them, even with physical contact. The fact that he has locked his thoughts down so tightly and all over a simple soldier has her more than a little concerned. She can feel the ball of dread starting to gnaw away at her stomach. “Another Grindelwald? One of his followers?”

“Your father.”


	21. Chapter 21

The moment the words leave the auror’s lips, Cressida loses all focus. The dream world collapses around them, the smooth white walls and plain cement floor turning into naught but dark shadows, and she feels herself dissolve into a rolling spectre of what she was. 

Graves is the only thing that seems to stay solid in the void that was once their school room. He blinks, but otherwise shows no surprise at her reaction, and for a moment she wonders if this was some sort of a test of his. Though, if it is, she can’t imagine what purpose it would serve. 

“It’s not a lie. Not a test.” He speaks into the darkness, as if he can read her thoughts. Given how shattered her guards are right now, it’s quite possible that he can - that every thought she has is laid bare before him. Rather than give him any more opportunity to see her deepest, most secret thoughts, she pulls back in to her own body and forces her eyes open.

It’s morning in the real world. The sun is climbing ever higher in the sky, revealing vast expanses of dirt broken up by the occasional grouping of dry stunted shrubs on either side of the train car. Vesta and Dora are snoring away on their bunk while Papa reads a battered copy of some Tolstoy novel down below. Cressida stares at him for a moment, can she really call him that now? Is he really her father or was Graves pulling her leg? No, she realizes with a start, he might be mistaken, but he’s not lying. 

She can see it now, all the myriad differences between them. His hair is fine and blonde, his eyes blue. He’s the picture of the perfect American that the Eugenics movement sings praises about - if only his last name wasn’t so European. Meanwhile her hair is thick and brown, and her eyes hazel. She’s also a bit taller than him and sturdier built. Vesta and Pandora however, are his spitting image, down to the dimple in their chins. And Lord knows she doesn’t get her looks from Mama, because Mama’s hair is copper red, and she’s delicately built like an elf from a story book. 

Speaking of Mama - the older woman is picking through the larder in search of something for breakfast completely oblivious to the turmoil burning in her eldest daughter’s chest. Cressida wants to ask her if it’s true, but this is neither the time nor the place. Especially after being cooped up with her for the past few days, having her harp on and on and on about Tinker. Things might explode if she did. Plus, asking would out Graves, and he’s in no shape to be on his own just yet. 

She flips back the quilt covering her legs and stands. Both Papa and Mama look up at the sound of her movement, but before they can wish her good morning, she steps onto the narrow platform just outside the door. Graves shifts as she passes him, one hand reaching out to touch her own, but she brushes past him. Let the others deal with him today. She’s tired of magic and MACUSA. Of aurors and laws and, everything really. She wishes that she had never dreamed about him. That he had never come to their circus, that someone else had found him instead.

Cressida wants her life back. 

She settles down into her normal spot and wraps her hands around the metal posts of the railing of the platform. She leans her head against the freezing cold iron, and the vibrations make her teeth rattle. “He said it wasn’t his story to tell, so why did he? Why couldn’t he keep his big fat mouth shut?”

Because you kept nagging at him, she tells herself. That’s why. You couldn’t just let it go. If you had just kept your own pie hole shut, then this wouldn’t be a problem. 

Does it really matter, she wonders, if Papa is actually her father? Even if she doesn’t share his blood, he’s been there for her in every other way. Men raise children who don’t belong to them all the time. How is this any different? It’s not - but if what Graves says is true, then that means that everything MACUSA had to offer wizard kind was available to herself just like any other average witch. 

She could have gone to Ilvermorny. 

She could have had real training instead of these clandestine midnight lessons. 

She didn’t need to live in fear. 

But because Mama lied, she’s spent all of her life stuck here, with this stupid circus, reading fortunes day in and day out. She could have done so much more. She could have been so much more. Instead she was taught to be afraid. 

And she’s not sure she can forgive that.

 

Cressida doesn’t go back inside for the rest of the day. She sits there, with her back against the door, mulling Graves’s words over and over and over, and tries to think of a way to get out of this mess she’s in. Ducking her head back in the sand again and pretending that everything is fine isn’t the answer. Neither is running away. As thrilling as it might be to imagine what her life would be like outside of shelter of the Circus, she can’t turn her back on her family - even after all of Mama’s lies. She would like a break though. Time and space to process things without Vesta’s whining, or Mama’s demands, or Dora’s questions distracting her. She thinks she’s owed at least that.

As soon as the train stops in Barstow, she hops back from her perch and strides along the train tracks up to the front car where the Manager and his wife live. Tinker calls out to her as she passes the bachelor car - which is a bit brave considering how she rejected him. Waving to him would only take a moment of her time, but she is determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. So she ignores him and continues on her quest. 

Mr. Morris is stepping down from the train when Cressida approaches. He’s surprised to see her, but when she asks for his wife, he ushers her inside. Mrs. Morris is sitting at the table inside, sipping from a mug of coffee and nibbling at a cookie. She stands upon Cressida’s entrance, “Miss Polari! What a pleasant surprise!” 

“It’s good to see you as well.” The younger woman smiles and gently squeezes the hand that is offered to her. She soon finds that she didn’t need to worry about injuring the plump older woman, because, while she might be a good forty years older, she’s hardly frail. She’s tugged along in the manager’s wife’s wake to a divan. 

“Sit! Sit!” Mrs. Morris commands, pushing her down onto the faded cushions. “We don’t often see your face around these parts - which is a shame, it’s really quite pretty.”

The woman is lying through her teeth. In reality, she thinks that Cressida looks a bit frightful at the moment. Cressida doesn’t need a mirror to know that she’s telling the truth; after spending all day on the platform, her cheeks are red and chapped, and her hair is a nest of knots and flyaways. And she’s fairly certain that the bags under her eyes from not sleeping well would put an elephant’s behind to shame. Still she forces herself to smile, “Thank you. I’m sorry I don’t visit more often, but Dora and reading cards keeps me busy.”

“And helping your Papa too, I’m sure.”

“Yes.”

“How is that fellow doing by the way?”

“Still a bit sick, I’m afraid.”

“Well, there’s a good hospital here if he needs it.”

“And how!” Cressida murmurs even though she can’t imagine Graves in such a place.

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence?” Mrs. Norris finally gets down to business. 

“I wanted to ask a favor. Is it possible to move in with the other shebas? The car’s a little cramped right now, and with Mr. Staid in the tent... well...”

The manager’s wife nods in understanding. “The single ladies car is also a bit crowded, and it’s not nearly as fine as your parent’s.”

“I’m aware.” She’s been inside once, when one of the aerialists held an ear piercing party. It’s been many years since then, and that pretty little trapeze artist is long gone, but she doubts that it’s changed much. 

“Mph.” Mrs. Norris grunts. “Honestly, I’ve been wondering when you would ask me about this. You’re getting to be a bit long in the tooth to be under your parent’s thumb. And I’m sure having your sisters following you about can’t be good for your marital prospects.” 

While having her youngest sister insult a possible beau isn’t an idea position to be in, it’s nothing compared to having Mama thrust a beau she doesn’t want on her. Not to mention all the lies. But rather than lay the blame at Mama’s feet where it belongs, Cressida flushes and that the woman is correct in her assumptions. 

Mrs. Norris pats her hand. “You’re in luck. It may be crowded, but there is a free bunk available. Go get your things and meet me there in ten minutes, and we’ll get you settled in.”

“Thank you.” Cressida smiles, feeling relieved even though the worst - telling Mama and Papa - is yet to come. “I’ll get a wiggle on!”

In the end, she doesn’t need to. The Polari car is pretty much empty upon her return - the only exception being Graves. He’s awake and he wants to talk to her. He wants to explain. She can feel the desire to make this mess right radiating off of him through the thin metal walls. Taking a deep breath, she closes her mind up tight so that the world around her is silent. Then she steps inside to collect her things. Graves immediately opens his mouth to say something, but she shakes her head. “No.”

His dark eyes watch as she pulls out a carpet bag and stuffs it full of some clothes to last her until the baggage car is unloaded. “Where are you doing?”

“I’ve been offered a spot with the single ladies, so I’ll be staying with them.”

“You know that’s not necessary - they’ll be moving me off as soon as they get your family’s tent set up.”

“I know. But I’m still going.” She shoves the last dress into the bag and stands. “It’s not you, at least not entirely, y’know. You’re not the one who lied to me for twenty something years. All you did was try to help me. To teach me. And I appreciate that. I really do.” 

“I’m sorry. I should have kept quiet.”

“Don’t be. I pestered you. I shouldn't have pestered you.” She picked up the carpet bag, twisting the leather handle in her fists. “I’m sure my parents probably know by now - gossip spreads so fast - but if they ask, can you let them know? I’ll tell them myself if I bump into them, of course, but...”

“Of course. But Cressida-”

“Thank you." She says quickly, cutting him off. "I'll see you around. Maybe." And with that done, she steps back outside and into the night.


	22. Chapter 22

The single ladies car is just as shabby as Cressida remembers it. While the whole thing is better insulated than the bachelor car, the walls are rough to the touch, snagging at dresses, blankets, and scarves stupid enough to go near them. One wall is covered in plywood bunks with only thin straw mattresses for comfort, and the ceiling is stained gray and brown from the smoke leaking out of the franklin stove in the middle of the car. But despite the dingy appearance, the atmosphere inside is jolly, and Cressida is welcomed in with open arms. 

In fact many of the girls are just as surprised as Mrs. Morris that she didn’t join them sooner. They tell her that at one point, there was even a pool going on about when she would finally move in - but they gave up after a year or two and spent the money on ice cream and moonshine instead. And while a couple of them do think she’s crazy for turning down Tinker, they don’t browbeat her about it like Mama. Oh, they tease from time to time if they catch the carnie staring at her, but that’s as far as it goes. 

They certainly are curious about Graves though. 

“Is he a looker?” Mary, one of the lion tamer’s daughters asks a couple of days later. “I heard he’s a real sheik.”

“Once he fills out, I imagine he will be.” Cressida shrugs and plays dumb even though a vision of the auror healthy and in his prime flashes before her eyes. Distance hasn’t eased the connection the fates have twined about them. While she’s no longer exhausted from his lessons, the sleep she’s been getting hasn’t been particularly restful. He continues to haunt her dreams. Dreams that range from him sharing drinks with her at the Blind Pig to doing other things. She flushes. “He’s no use to anyone right now.”

“And how! That cough of his is loud enough to rattle the whole camp.” One of the arealists comments. It takes Cressida a moment to remember her name - Odette. Or is she Nanette? No, it’s Odette. Odette feels a bit like floss candy when she drops her shields long enough to sense her, where Nanette is more spicy. The two girls are identical twins, and while they don’t seem to mind the others getting them mixed up, Cressida strives to do better. “I’m surprised he isn’t a goner.”

“Papa’s very gifted.” She’s probably a bit more defensive than she should be, but it’s been a long day. The fortune telling tent was finally set up this morning, and by lunch time there was a line of giggling school girls wanting to see if she knew the name of their future husbands. Not to mention that she bumped in to Mama twice only to have the older woman ignore her. While silence is better than the outburst she had been bracing herself for, at least the yelling match that was likely to follow would’ve given her an outlet for the anger festering inside of her. “Besides, coughs are always the last thing to heal. I’m sure he’ll be on his way soon.” At least, she hopes he’ll be on his way soon.

If Odette notices her waspishness, she gives no sign. She’s sprawled out on her bunk with her twin, ooohing and aahing over a movie magazine that’s filled with pictures of Clara Bow. They reach a particularly large photo of the actress staring off of the camera with dewy eyes and flip it around to show the fortune teller. “You could pull this off!”

“Mama would never let me cut my hair.” Cressida replies. 

“Your Mama ain’t here to stop you now, is she?” Nanette raises an eyebrow and gives her a wink. “And our Alarm clock over there isn’t going to sing.” She nods at the bearded lady asleep by the stove. The older woman is twice widowed, and has been assigned to be their chaperone by the circus manager and his wife. But instead of being the strict hand they all expected her to be, she’s fairly lenient and spends more time napping in between shows than anything else. 

“No, but I’m still not sure it’s a good idea...”

“C’mon. I’ll bet you won’t even need to use curlers once we lop those dead ends off. It’ll probably just spring right up!” Nanette continues to pressure her. 

“Oh, yes.” Odette agrees. “It’ll be the berries. You’ll see.”

Cressida sighs and runs a hand through her hair, pulling it forward to stare at the dark locks. “It would be easier to deal with.”

“Absotutely! And it’ll convince Tinker that he needs to try harder if he wants to nail you down. You’re a bright young thing after all!”

She laughs at that. “I’m an old maid.”

“Oh hush! You’ve got some life in you yet. No need to hang up those dancing shoes for just any old fella. Come on! You’ll be gorgeous with a bob!”

“All right, all right.”

In quick order she’s pulled from her bunk by the two sisters and told to sit in a chair next to the fire. Mary produces a pair of scissors while Nanette combs through her hair. Then, before she has a chance to change her mind, the first strands start to fall to the floor. Odette fawns over her while her sister works. “Look at those curls! You won’t need to tie your hair up at night like Mary does!” 

“Mm,” was all she could say in response. 

For a brief moment, she doubts that they’re telling her the truth. Perhaps they aren’t as nice as their outward appearances suggest. Maybe she read them wrong. Maybe they’re jealous about Tinker’s attentions. But when she opens herself up a little more, the minds that brush against hers are just as bright and cheery as ever before. They honestly do like her and enjoy her company, and want nothing but the best for her, just like they want nothing but diamonds and pearls for each other. She feels silly for questioning their friendship, but after years of being taught not to trust anyone it’s hard to just flip the switch. 

More hair falls to the floor around her, and she closes her eyes. While she might be feeling reassured about their friendship, she’s still not entirely sure she trusts them to hack at her mop so. They might be clever with their own tresses and makeup, but that doesn’t exactly make them salon owners. However, she can feel the pleasure and pride of a job well done wafting off Nanette, and the other girls are radiating with approval. Even their chaperone admires her new look. 

A mirror is shoved into Cressida’s hand and she opens first one eye and then the other to survey her reflection. Her face stares back at her, timid and unsure,pretty, but definitely no Clara Bow. Her hair is much too short; relieved of all the weight holding them down, her curls have sprung up and now brush the bottom of her jaw. Taming them into anything even remotely stylish is going to take a bit of hair creme - more than she has right now - and heaven knows if Barstow has a barber that’s willing to touch a woman’s hair. She’s seen a few girls with bobs, but they’re so rough they’re probably home cuts like the massacre she just sat through. 

“See?” Nanette asks. “Isn’t it the hotsy totsy?”

“A little bit of eyeliner, and the fellas will be falling all over you.” Odette adds.

Cressida doubts that, but she feigns approval and thanks them for the makeover. As soon as she does, the chaperone suddenly seems to remember the time and tells them it’s time for their dates with the sandman. The other girls groan and beg for another hour or two. It’s a game to them - as soon as she nods off, they’ll slip off to hit the speakeasies in town. They’ve invited Cressida to join them, but every night she’s turned them down, and tonight will be no different. 

She changes into her nightgown along side the others, listening to them giggle over this miner or that farmer that might be at the watering hole tonight. She nods when appropriate but she’s relieved when they clamber into their bunks and she can pull her quilt up to her shoulders. Her neck is cold from the lack of hair though, so she eventually pulls it up over her head, curling up into a tight ball underneath it. 

Maybe now Mama will finally say something when she sees her instead of storming away in silence.


	23. Chapter 23

Mama never does say anything. Nor does Papa. 

Oh, Cressida can see the looks they cast her way when they bump into her at the Dining tent for breakfast. Even though she’s wrapped her hair in a scarf, Mama can tell she’s lopped it off. The woman is so furious at the change that her emotions roll off her in thick dark clouds tinged with orange and red like the fires of hell itself. Papa is mostly just sad, his depression following behind him like a flowing dark cape. He gives her a nod and a wave when he’s sure Mama isn’t looking, and Cressida sighs. She misses talking to him, misses his calming presence. She feels bad that he and her sisters have gotten wrapped up in this mess. After all he’s only tried to do what is best for her over the years. He’s taught her as much as he can about medicine, and encouraged her talent for healing. But by remaining silent about her true parentage, he was just as bad as Mama. 

Pandora gives her a broad smile, and she stands to run over to her older sister. However, before she can make it a step, Mama grabs her hand and tugs her back into her seat. Then she hisses something in the girl’s ear. Judging from the tears that spring up in her eyes, it’s probably not very kind. Cressida’s heart breaks for the girl, and she’s about ready to say something, but by then her bunkmates are done and ready to head back to their train car. They link arms with her so that she has no choice but to follow them. 

“It’ll all blow over soon.” Odette says, trying to bolster her spirits. 

“They just need to realize that you are your own sheba.” Nanette adds. “C’mon, let’s do your hair before you have to go do your voodoo mumbo jumbo.”

“But it is done.” Cressida explains, tugging at the end of the multicolored scarf. Between this and her fur coat, she should cut quite the mysterious figure. 

Nanette rips the scarf off her head before she can step away. Her tousled head of curls springs free like a halo about her face. “Oh, honey. Did you even try?”

“I’ll have you know I used most of my products, and it still couldn’t tame the beast.” Cressida replies, snatching her scarf back. However she’s not fast enough, and Tinker spots her as he heads towards his post. He pauses mid stride, his jaw hanging open in surprise. Great. She hurries up, and tucks her head down to hide her flaming cheeks. 

Behind her she can hear the smack of hand against flesh as Odette hits her sister in the arm. Then the next thing she knows, the girl has run up next to her and is grabbing her hand. “It’s not about how much product you use, it’s about how you use it. There’s no need to be ashamed. You’ve never done this before. That beast kept you all under a tight leash didn’t she?”

Cressida snorts at that. “That’s the understatement of the century.” 

“It’s honestly amazing that Vesta turned out to be such a bright young thing.” Nanette adds when she catches up with them. Cressida is tempted to point out that it’s only because the girl is normal, but her friend won’t let her get a word in. “When do you have to be at the tent?”

“An hour.”

“Good. That’s plenty of time!” Odette tugs her along and pushes her up the steps into the single ladies train car. “Let’s get started.”

The two sisters spend the next hour taming Cressida’s rebellious locks into something a bit more manageable. By the time Nanette and Odette are done, she feels a bit more confident about the hair style. Especially once Mary trades out her scarf for a sequined headband with a peacock feather in it. It’s a bit too fancy to be worn midday, in fact it would be better suited for a party, but Cressida can’t bring herself to protest; the spectacular blues and greens pop against her dark brown hair and the whole effect is really quite divine. They then pass her pots of eyeshadow, and cakes of eyeliner, and make suggestions regarding her make up routine. By the time they’re done, she’s really quite mysterious looking, with smokey eyeshadow and red bow lips. All she needs is a beaded night dress and she’d put any bright young thing to shame.

Too bad the look is wasted in the darkness of the fortune telling tent as she reads tarot.

“Now you’ll have to come out with us.” Mary nudges Cressida’s shoulder as she studies herself in the mirror.

“We’ll see.”

“None ‘we’ll see’ business. You are coming and you are going to have fun.”

Cressida smiles at that. “We’ll see.” But despite her claims, she knows she probably will. Maybe if she goes out with them it’ll be different. She can enjoy herself without having to worry about what Tinker really wants, or what trouble Vesta is going to get into. She can have actually fun. She glances at the clock on the far wall of the train car and gasps, “I’ve gotta go! I’m late!”

All three girls quickly hustle her down the steps, and she takes off at a brisk walk towards her tent. Thankfully she doesn’t bump into Tinker, but a few of the carnies send appreciative whistles her way, and the lion tamer gives her a bow with a flourish as she passes him. Funny how none of them seemed to notice her before, but add a bit of paint and bling and suddenly they’re all agog. And while she doesn’t want to encourage their attentions, she can’t help but smile to herself as she strides across the desert sand. 

Thankfully, despite the fact that she is nearly thirty minutes late, there isn’t a line waiting for her outside the tent. She quickly gets to work setting up her tools on the table and brews a pot of tea on top of the stout little stove in the corner. All the while she hums a jaunty little song - something she heard from one of Graves dreams of The Blind Pig though.

“Well, you’re awfully cheerful considering all the trouble you’ve caused.” Vesta’s caustic voice surprises her. 

“All the trouble I’ve caused?” Cressida is torn between snapping and laughing at the absurdity of her statement. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you going off with that sap.”

“Cause of you I can’t go out anymore. Mama’s always breathing down my neck.”

“I don’t see how that’s my fault. Again, you were the one who had been sneaking out. You reap what you sow.”

Vesta grumbles at that. She’s not loud enough for her sister to understand, but the legilimens can feel the anger and frustration rolling off the words. Cressida shakes her head at that; typical Vesta, not wanting to accept that the mess she was in was her own fault. 

Cressida sighs, “Is there a point to this?”

“Papa wants you to sit with Mr Staid tonight.”

“Do I look like a Dumb Dora to you?”

“Well, you cut your hair all stupid like so...” Her sister trails off, picking at her fingernails. Cressida doesn’t need her gift to see that she’s only lashing out because she’s jealous. After a moment she crosses her arms over her chest. “If you don’t say yes I’ll tell mama you and the others slip out at night after the bearded lady goes to sleep.”

It’s a lucky guess; though, really, anyone worth their salt probably knows the others sneak in to town at night - they aren’t exactly quiet about it. A part of her is tempted to say no, and just warn her bunkmates to ease off the after hours expeditions for awhile. But then they might get mad at her for ruining their fun, even though it’s all Vesta’s fault for sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. “Fine.” She grouses. “I’ll do it. But only if you tell me where you’re going.”

“So you can tell Mama and Papa? No.”

“So I know where to go in case I need to save your scrawny behind again.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be an issue. See, Tinker’s taking me out for coffee.” Despite her best attempts to remain stoic, Cressida’s jaw drops open at that. Vesta’s smile is triumphant and she waves her fingers in her sister’s direction before stepping out of the tent. “Toodles!”


	24. Chapter 24

As much as Cressida is not interested in Tinker in any sort of romantic fashion anymore, the idea that he’s changed allegiances from her to her sister so quickly is infuriating. She spends the rest of the day incensed, and it clouds her abilities so much that she can’t read her customers wants or desires. Instead she’s forced to ply them with leading questions - which thankfully they are too simple to pick up on - and give them generic answers to their issues. Only one or two are less than pleased and demand a refund, which Cressida can’t really fault them for. She hands over their money without a complaint and suggests they come back later for a free reading. 

“Your future is too cloudy at this time.” She claims in her fake Russian accent. “But tomorrow it should be clearer.” 

The customer keeps scowling anyways and storms out of the tent. 

At lunch time, she happily closes up shop and storms over to the single ladies car. Her new friends will miss her presence at their table in the dining tent and she knows they’ll wonder what is wrong, but she doesn’t want to see Tinker or Vesta right now. She might just smack their faces if she did. Or insert several nasty nightmares in their minds. 

Once Cressida reaches the safety of her bunk, she sprawls out over the narrow mattress and then screams her frustrations into her pillow. She feels better the moment that the pent up frustration is finally released, but she’s still gobsmacked at the sudden turn of events. What the hell was Tinker thinking? What the hell was Vesta thinking? 

As Cressida dwells on it more and more, she realizes that she can’t really fault Vesta. After all Tinker is an attractive man. Plus he helped rescue her from Sam’s clutches. Vesta probably idolizes him like a knight in shining armor after that mess. And Mama probably started shoving the girl his way the moment Cressida turned him down and moved out of the family car. Vesta is so desperate for her approval that she would do anything to make the older woman happy. But it’s possible that Mama didn’t plan this or even knows about it. If she did, she would have been the one to arrange for someone to sit with Graves while Vesta went out with Tinker.

The truly baffling thing is why would Tinker do this? Vesta is half his age and the only thing the two have in common is drinking shine. Was this the darkness that Dora saw inside him? Or was it something else? Or maybe the man was just doing this to try to make her jealous. To try to force her to accept his offer. He’s beyond stupid if that’s his plan and he won’t get the answer he wants if he keeps it up. Hell, nothing he could do at this point would make her want to say yes. 

The sound of footsteps clambering up the steps to the car breaks her out of her reverie. Nanette appears in the door way, her sister close on her heels. “He’s an idiot.”

Cressida groans. Of course they heard. Nothing is a secret in this circus for very long.

“Or Vesta must be balled up.” Oddette adds. “No way he would be interested in her like that. She’s too young.”

That was another idea that had occurred to her. It was entirely possible that Tinker was trying to be friendly, but Vesta took it the wrong way. It had happened before, and it’s entirely possible that it would happen again. After all, Vesta was the type to see wedding bells any time a boy looks in her direction. 

“It’s really none of my beeswax what they are up to.” Cressida sits up and smooths her skirt. “He never had a chance.”

Nanette gasps at that. “So it’s true! He did pop the question and you turned him down?”

“That fella your father is looking after must really be something if he’s turned your head that much.”

“That’s not it.” Cressida lies. “Dora saw darkness in him. In Tinker, I mean.”

“What do you mean, darkness?” Oddette asks at the same time Nanette exclaims, “But I thought that was all a sham!”

She flushes at her little slip up, so she lies. “Sometimes it is. Sometimes we just make things up. But sometimes, we do pick up on somethings. Dora might not be trained yet, but I believe her.”

“You could always tell Mrs Polari. I’m sure she would put a stop to it.”

“Mama was there when Dora said it and she just brushed it off.”

“Then tell Mrs Morris!”

“But then Mrs. Morris would put a stop to your little late night trips.” 

“How does she know about our --” Odette is confused, but Nanette is far quicker. She gasps in surprise as she picks up on what their friend is implying. “Vesta is blackmailing you? That little witch!”

Cressida snorts at that; if they only knew the truth, what would they say then? “I’m sorry she’s such a louse.”

“So what’s the plan chickadee?”

“I go and sit with Mr Staid so Vesta can have her moment of glory.”

“You don’t have to do that. If you go to Mrs. Morris, and Vesta does try to out us, we can always play dumb. We’ve done it before, we can do it again.” Nanette reaches out and gives Cressida’s hand a squeeze. The Legilimens can see that she means it. They have been ratted out before, they’ve even been caught in the act, and they just play the part of a grundy before hopping back on the struggle buggy.

“I don’t mind. Really I don’t.” Cressida lies. Truthfully, she’s more than a little anxious about seeing Graves again after everything that has happened. 

“You’re a saint for putting up with that mess.” 

“Too bad there won’t be any riches waiting in heaven for me.” Cressida grumbles as she slides out of her bunk and stands up. According to the clock over the stove, she has just enough time to get back over to the tent before the afternoon readings start. Hopefully the rumbling of her belly isn’t too distracting for her customers. She smoothes her dress down and then twists and turns until the fur coat settles back into place. A quick glance in the mirror tells her that her makeup and hair is still impeccable despite the stress she’s put it through. 

Odette presses her lips against her cheek. “Who needs riches when they have a friend like you? You’re pure gold doll.”

“Yeah.” Nanette agrees. “We owe you one.”


	25. Chapter 25

Come evening, Cressida arrives at the Polari family tent at the preapproved time. She hides in the shadows while Papa gives her sister last minute instructions. Then, after he strides off towards the big top, she darts inside to relieve Vesta of her charge. Despite it’s relocation, the tent is almost exactly as she remembers it; there’s Graves tucked into the bed, her vanity, and the chests with the family’s clothes. Graves perks up at her presence, shifting so that he’s sitting a little more upright, but Cressida quickly looks away from him to glare at her sister. “If you don’t hurry, you’ll be late.”

The younger girl gives her a smug smile, “I’m surprised you showed up. I thought you might tattle on me.”

“The thought crossed my mind.” Cressida confessed, slipping out of her coat and draping it over the vanity. From the state of the drawers, her sister has been taking advantage of her cosmetics. She’ll have to sneak some out before she steals all of them. “I might still do it, so you better shake a leg.”

“And how.” Vesta gives her a little wave as she slips through the flaps. “Have a fun time. I know I will.”

The desire to send one or two nasty thoughts after the girl is overwhelming, and, for a moment, Cressida considers giving into it. However, it’s not worth the effort, and Vesta will learn soon enough that she’s just a pawn in whatever game Tinker is playing. While she regrets that her sister’s heart will be broken yet again, maybe that will teach her not to meddle in things. 

“She’s and interesting girl, your sister.” Graves’s voice breaks the tense silence. 

Cressida snorts at that and turns to face him. He looks better, though still a bit skinny. His skin has more color to it, and his wounds have healed. The only trace of them is a series of bright shiny scars maring his forearms. “Has she been impressing you with her fine wit during my absence?”

“A little. I’ve learned quite a bit about no-maj movie stars from those papers she enjoys.” He gestures at the stack abandoned on the vanity. “She enjoys reading them out loud, regardless of if I am sleeping or not.”

“Poor man.” Cressida takes her sisters absent seat. “But maybe it might come in handy when you’re working under cover someday.”

Now it’s Graves’s turn to snort. “I doubt that.” His words immediately turn into a cough, and he waves her off before she can summon him a glass of water. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, I imagine wizards have something better to entertain themselves with than picture shows.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead he studies her as closely as she studied him, rubbing his fingers together as he did so. It’s the first nervous twitch she’s ever seen him make. “You cut your hair.”

“Yes.” Cressida sighs. “It was a huge mistake.”

“It looks nice.”

She stares at him in shock. “Really?”

“Yes.” His eyes drop from the tight ringlets to her wide eyes. He clears his throat. “I... am... sorry for what I did. For what I said.”

Cressida felt her cheeks burn at the reminder. “It was bound to come out sooner or later.”

“The truth should have come from your parents, not me. It was not my story to tell.”

“I pressed you about it, so it’s just as much my fault as it is yours.” She forced herself to smile. “It’s fine. Really.”

Graves doesn’t believe her, but he changes the subject. “Have you been practicing?”

“No.” He narrows his eyes at her confession, and she arches an eyebrow right back at him. “It’s kinda hard to practice that thing when you’re in a train car full of people.”

“We could resume your training in that dream world you created.”

“It’s a bit too far of a reach for me.” The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes she could, possibly, do it. As he said before, during sleep, her walls are lower, so it’s easier to reach out and the single ladies car isn’t that far from the Polari family car or the tent. However, she’s not sure she wants to invite that sort of union again. Especially considering how he’s haunted her dreams lately. “Besides, aren’t your friends going to come get you soon?”

“Unfortunately I’ve not had a chance to contact them yet. Your father finally let me start taking short walks yesterday. Perhaps by the end of the week I might be able to talk him into letting me venture into town.”

Cressida shook her head at that. “No. Maybe by next week, but not this week. You were in bad shape when I found you. You don’t want to push yourself too hard and then have a regression.”

“With the way your mother keeps pouring those potions of hers down my throat, I doubt I’ll need to worry about that.”

“Right, but you should still try to pretend like you’re still a little sick for a little bit longer. I know being stuck in here has to be a bit chafing, but a sudden miraculous recovery will draw unwanted attention.”

“I feel as if we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Only because you lack the common sense to let your body heal properly.” She shot a glare at him, then inhaled sharply as a thought occurred to her. “I could always wire someone for you.”

“Are you so eager to be rid of me?”

“I’m just trying to help. I know you want to get away from all us horrible no good No-Majs.”

“They aren’t all bad, though their healing methods do leave something to be desired and the reading material could be a little more stimulating.” Graves sinks back into the comfort of the bed, folding his hands over his belly. “I’m shocked you would offer to do such a thing considering your aversion to wizard kind.”

“Maybe they aren’t all bad either.” If this keeps up, her cheeks might turn permanently pink from the amount of flushing she’s doing. “Besides, I figure I can make myself scarce before anyone decides to apparate in and rescue you.”

“Apparition is faster than you think. I appreciate the offer, but there still remains the problem of not knowing who is in control of MACUSA.”

“I don’t think Mama has had a chance to get a paper yet. If there’s even one available out here.”

“Well, until I am healthy enough to venture to Los Angeles, we can put our time together to good use and practice.” He closes his eyes, and she can feel him start to drift off. The crack in his walls open, inviting her into that blank room they had trained in before. 

Cressida shakes her head. “No.”

He opens his eyes and blinks rapidly at the brightness of lantern light. “No?”

“Why don’t we practice in the physical world instead?”

“We have no wands.”

“We can use sticks instead.”

“Someone might see.”

“Then we’ll turn off the lights and if anyone asks, we’ll say you were sleeping.” She stands and flips the blankets back from his legs. Thankfully he is clothed underneath, wearing a pair of Papa’s hand me down pants and she breathes a sigh of relief as she tugs him to his feet. “Come on, it’ll be a good start to getting back in shape.” 

He leans against the bed, standing on legs that are shakier than a newborn colt, his chest heaving from the sudden exertion. “Fine. Go find a stick, and we’ll see if you still remember anything that I taught you.”


	26. Chapter 26

Graves’s lesson is nowhere near the length of the ones he gave in the dream world. After twenty minutes he’s spending more time sitting than standing, and not ten minutes after that he can barely keep his eyes open.

“You need to be smoother with your movements.” He coaches her as he stretches back out on the bed.

“It’s been a little bit. And there was no resistance there like there is here.” His breathing is labored, but at least she doesn’t hear the rattle she did before. Still, she pours him some of Mama’s tea and passes it along. “Here.”

Graves wrinkles his nose at the smell before gulping it down, his adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow. “Practice when you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

He surprised her by reaching out to grab her hand. “And try to stop by when you can so I can show you more.” Cressida nodded numbly, shocked by how strong his fingers feel against hers. “I know you don’t want to see your parents.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to see them, it’s just that...” She sighed. “I was the one who was wronged, but instead of apologizing, I’m being punished. And even if Papa really was my father, and not this Mr Weiss, it’s entirely my right to decide how I want to live.”

“I believe your mother is just upset that her best laid plans did not come to fruition.”

“Well, she’ll have a second chance if my sister gets her way.”

He frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

“Nevermind.” She can feel him testing her own walls, trying to figure out what she means, so she drops his hand. “I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon if I can.”

“Your parents won’t protest?”

“With how my sister gets ossified? I’m sure Papa will be happy for the help. Not that you need constant babysitting anymore.” Outside the tent she can hear a cheer as the show in the big top reaches its climax. She tugs on her fur coat and gives him a smile. “Get your rest, Mr Staid. I’m sure Papa will be along in a moment to check on you.”

“Goodnight Miss Polari.”

The desert air is clear, and she can see millions of stars hanging in the dark night sky above. The little pin pricks of light twinkle against the black blanket covering the world. To her right the glow of the lights from the main circus tent tries its hardest to chase them away, but the stars are too numerous to be dashed out. She could lose herself in their beauty, but there is work to be done.

There are still a few minutes left before the performers will leave the show to get dinner and settle in for the night. Cressida takes advantage of this to enter the family train car and pull the hatbox out from underneath her parents bed. Mama’s wards and charms will alert the older woman to her presence, maybe they’ll even tell her what she looked at, but she won’t be able rush off without being suspicious - so Cressida has time to flip through the copies of the Ghost. Sadly none of them are new. Without Cressida to keep an eye on Pandora or Vesta, Mama hasn’t had a chance to slip off and buy a new one. But then again, Barstow isn’t exactly the type of town that would have any magic. It’s too plain and boring.

The moving photo of Emil Weiss stares up at her, and for a moment she considers ripping it to shreds. However, it’s not his fault that Mama is... well... who she is. She decides to pocket it instead, along with a couple of the wizard coins. Then, knowing her time is up, she quickly shoves the lid back down onto the hatbox and slides it back into its hiding spot.

Cressida stands up and turns to find that the door to the train car is opening. Mama must have been able to slip away from the show faster than she thought she would. She braces herself for the woman’s angry tirade, but instead Vesta tumbles through the doorway, drunker than a skunk on Christmas. And following behind her, with his hands already busy undoing her dress is none other than Sam.

The sight of him fumbling with her younger sister’s buttons makes her want to vomit. However rather than giving in, she explodes instead. “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Vesta yelps in surprise. “We were just going to have a little fun, that’s all.” Vesta slurs. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

“Oh, trust me honey, I’m not the one doing the ruining around here.” Cressida snaps. “Did you forget what he did? What he said?”

“He apologized.”

“Yeah, and how much did he mean it?”

“He meant it!”

“And I’m the Queen of England. Did it ever occur to you that maybe he only did it so he can get what he wants?”

“That’s not true!”

“Sure it isn’t. Yet he got his hands up your skirt awfully fast, didn’t he?” While Cressida is relieved that Tinker isn’t as vile as she thought he was, she still doesn’t trust his motives, or the motives of the man trying to feel up her sister. She jerks her chin at him. “Skedaddle. This isn’t some struggle buggy parked on a lovers lane. This is a honest home.”

“Last I heard, you don’t get a say what happens here any longer.” Sam snaps right back. Vesta stares at her expectantly, her chin lifted defiantly as if expecting a battle.

Cressida opens her mouth to give them both what for, but the words die on her lips. Yes, Vesta is young, and, yes, Cressida believes her sister is making an idiotic mistake by canoodling with the likes of Sam and accepting apology so easily. However she has the right to make her own decisions and find her happiness where she can like anyone else. And if that scumbag brings her happiness, then so be it. Plus, she’s tired of being the one to clean up after her sisters. Dora is one thing - she can’t control her abilities. Vesta, however, is nearly an adult. “You know what? You’re right.” 

Cressida can feel the storm cloud that is Mama’s emotions heading right towards them, followed closely by the dark cloud of Papa’s depression. Good. Let them deal with this latest mess that Vesta has tangled herself up in. She opens the door immediately behind her and steps onto the platform. “Have at it you two.”

Their confusion follows her as she steps off the car and onto the hard Californian dirt, and she nods at Mama and Papa as they walk up. “Hello.”

“What are you doing here?” Mama hisses, her voice gravely with barely restrained anger. “You made your choice to stay with the other harlots. You don’t get to come back whenever you want.”

Harlots? That's a low blow, but Mama is stuck in the old ways - which is a bit silly considering the skimpy outfit she used to wear as a part of the show. Still, Cressida will have to warn her friends that their night time excursions in to town aren't as secret as they want them to be, but before she can defend the other girls, a giggle followed by a low moan reaches their ears from the inside of the darkened train car.

Mama pales, "What was that?"

Cressida jerks her thumb behind her. “The other bearcat in the family.”

"Why didn't you stop her?"

"Because it's not my place. I'm not her mother. You are. And maybe if you had paid her an ounce of attention rather than being so obsessed with me and my future, she wouldn't be so desperate for affection from the likes of men like him."

For a moment Mama gapes at her, then she climbs the steps up to the car at a quick clip. There’s a squawk of surprise from inside the car, followed by a lot of yelling. Then Sam comes tumbling out the other side of the train car. He shoots a glare in their direction before running off in the opposite direction, one hand clutching the waist of his pants to hold them up.

Papa sighs. "If that boy becomes my son in law, I don't know what I'll do."

"Maybe he's not as bad as he seems. She said he apologized. And if he makes her happy..." 

He snorts at that, then winces at the noise that continues to emanate from the car.

“I’m sure Mr Staid wouldn’t mind the company if you need to escape.” Cressida suggests, offering him an escape from the squabble going on behind them.

“The only company Mr Staid seems to prefers is yours.” Papa replies, his tone dry and devoid of emotion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs again, but this time it carries a warning. “Just be careful dear. Tinker isn’t the only man with a bit of darkness to him around here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this shortly before we moved, when we were in the middle of packing and dealing with inspections and escrow, so I didn't have a chance to review it like I normally do. Now that things have settled down, and I had a chance to re-read it, it occurred to me that Cressida was basically slut shaming her sister. Which, while Vesta is not my favorite character ever, and she's a bit pain in the butt, no girl deserves. So I've edited it to be a little bit less offensive. Older generations are still going to frown down on the younger generations though - and there were some big changes in the 20s that the older folks didn't approve of... so unfortunately there's not much I can do about her mother's attitude. Plus I don't think any parent would be thrilled to come home and find their children making out with their boyfriend/girlfriend.


End file.
